Rhapsody
by annanabanana
Summary: A reclusive, idiosyncratic composer and a beautiful, eclectic dog walker cross paths for six months without ever meeting. What happens when they work up the courage to talk to each other? BxE, AU/AH *Rated M for some mouth trash and lemonade*
1. Monday, Wednesday, Friday

**a/n: *takes a deep breath but still feels extremely nervous* This is my first attempt at fanfic. This is my first attempt at a short story. This is, most definitely, the first thing I have ever surrendered for public consumption. Can you tell I'm anxious?**

**I would like to begin by apologizing because I don't have a beta. I am the first person who should slap my hand for that because I have an obsession with editing. The obsession helped with my own editing, but I apologize now if the lack of beta is painfully obvious. I haven't hunted for one yet because then I have to admit that I like this story enough to really _want_ to write it. Can you hear me through all of this sand? If you are interested in being a beta for me, please PM me.**

**Lastly, I would really appreciate reviews. I don't mind if they are negative or positive as long as they are honest and pertinent. I don't like asking for things from others (ie: issues with finding beta,) but reviews will let me know if this is worth writing/reading.**

**I lied when I said lastly before. This story, the characters and the title sort of just popped into my head after reading a poem I have liked for a while. Leave it to me to smuttify a poetry reading. I had no intentions of writing fanfic, but they would not shut up once they started talking. The poem is _American Rhapsody_ by Kenneth Fearing. If you can't find it online but would like to read it, PM me and I'll send it to you. **

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_**Rhapsody**_ 1: a musical composition of irregular form having an improvisatory character 2: effusively rapturous or extravagant discourse

**EPOV**

I squinted at my hair as it mocked me with its utter unruliness from the mirror in my entryway. I turned toward my front door and then back to the mirror, the door, and then the mirror again. I looked down at my watch. Again. 11:02 a.m. I bit back the urge to walk to the elevator directly outside my front door. There was, absolutely, not one good excuse for me to deviate from schedule. I reasoned with myself that I would just end up pausing at the elevator, finger hovering over the button, for the additional four minutes. I was well prepared from experience. If I walked out to my elevator at 11:06 a.m., I had the best chance of meeting her in it on her way downstairs.

_Ha. Meeting, indeed. What a poor choice of words._

11:04 a.m. I pushed a deep breath out of my lungs in an attempt to settle my nerves. I wasn't even sure why I was so overly wrought. I had been following this routine for over six months. Every Monday, Wednesday and Friday she was here. In the building. Where I live. Thankfully, I worked from home, composing music, so I was able to keep these _appointments_.

She walked a dog that lived here. She was a dog walker. She was magnificent.

11:06 a.m. I smoothed my shirt to attempt a more calm exterior. I stepped through my door, and approached the elevator. With deliberate movements, I reached my hand out and pressed the button to summon it to me. I pushed the button again. And again. This was one of the two times during the week when I actually rode in the elevator. My condo was on the seventh floor, but I preferred to take the stairs. I had no problem traveling in a small metal box suspended by only a thick wire cable. I just felt more comfortable with the repetitive, rhythmic steps of the stairs. If I paced myself well, I could close my eyes and hear an imaginary metronome sounding itself in the soft stomp of my shoes on the steps. It helped me organize the notes that constantly swirled around in my head.

So, on Monday and Friday I waited for the elevator, hoping to encounter her. I realized quickly that crossing paths with her was not an exact science. I had a plan B. I was always on time or early for my potential elevator date, so if I missed her, I simply walked through the lobby of my building and out the door. If I turned to the left outside of the front door, there was a self service Newspaper vendor, and fifty cents lighter, I would turn around and walk back through the lobby. If I didn't get to share her elevator, I could slowly pass her as she made her way outside.

If I was lucky, she would stop and talk to Mike at the front desk, and I could observe her more thoroughly through her stillness. I would walk at the slowest possible pace while she spoke to him. I even got to hear the soft tones of her voice sometimes. She always spoke quietly in the lobby. As if she were in a library or a mausoleum. Even for less than a minute, as I moved beyond her, it was the apex of my day.

Wednesdays were different. They were my favorite days.

On Wednesdays, I ignored the elevator and took the stairs at 11: 17 a.m. I would stroll leisurely across the street towards a small park nearby. On Wednesdays, she spent time in the park with the dog, and, on Wednesdays, I was able to linger with her presence, albeit from a distance. I would casually walk around the park and watch her as she read. Sometimes, her whole body would tense, her muscles strained and cheeks flushed, with anticipation for her story. That flush was worth a week of elevator _meetings_. Other times, she would worry her lower lip softly with her teeth, or sigh contentedly over the words on her pages. Very rarely, she would languidly tilt her head back, letting her eyes roll closed, and a comfortable calm would draw a small smile on her lips while she absorbed the warmth from the sun. Wednesdays were most definitely my favorite.

I gave my watch a nervous glance. Again. 11:08 a.m. My anxiety was starting to escalate; where was the elevator? I was suddenly rooted to the floor in my indecision. I had never had to wait this long for the elevator. I had never thought of a contingency plan for this. I had no plan. What if she made it out of the building before I was able to see her? I could take the stairs, or, maybe, I should call down to Mike to find out if there was a problem. Or maybe . . . My anxiety escalated while I was vacillating between unanticipated variables. I needed time to evaluate. I didn't have time. My breathing sped, and I could feel my skin flush with uneasiness. I had no plan.

I was abruptly calmed as the elevator doors slid open with an accompanying bell sound. I was so distracted trying to regain control of my pulmonary function, that I almost didn't notice her standing in the center of the car.

I knew from experience that I had, approximately, a five second count from the moment I looked up at her before I needed to avert my eyes. I would love to stare, no gawk, at her openly for indefinite amounts of time, but I knew that it would cause her disquiet. Most people find it uncomfortable when someone stares at them intensely, which I have been accused of doing to people in my lifetime, often. So, when I was lucky enough to encounter her in the elevator, I had five seconds of eye contact. Once we were descending, closed into this small space, I could glance at her again, but they were always furtive sideways glances. No eye contact.

Five seconds _was_ enough. Five seconds would _never_ be enough.

I met her eyes for five endless seconds that seemed to be over before they began while I stepped into the elevator. Her luxurious brown eyes were full of warmth. It seemed impossible that things so physically small could contain so much depth within them. Her lashes were a few shades darker than her hair, and, at first glance, might even appear to be black. They most definitely were not black. Black is cold. The fringe around her eyes was a color for which I don't even have a name. And her hair. Her hair was the richest, most delicious shade of mahogany, and it was restrained into a ponytail of messy waves today; some days she would wear it down. It always looked a tiny bit wild as if she had given up any attempt to conform those locks into anything but what they were. I followed the luminous, creamy skin of her cheeks down to her supple mouth. She lifted the corners of her glorious, peach tinted lips infinitesimally at me in a shy smile as my eyes moved down past her chin.

My five seconds were up.

I couldn't smile back at her. I always tried my very hardest not to appear conflicted or distraught or disturbed. I didn't want to scare her. I was afraid to say something. I had never planned a way to talk to her. More than anything I worried that, if I did say something, I would, unintentionally, draw negative attention to myself. I definitely could _not_ function without these weekly appointments, so I refused to do anything to disturb my status quo.

We were slightly more than one foot apart. So close. While I couldn't ogle her endlessly, I could absorb her presence. She exuded warmth. She radiated calm. She emanated an easy, pleasant, bohemian feeling.

And her smell. _Ohh_. She smelled like summer and lemonade stands and waterfalls and freshly mown grass and this thing my Gram called ambrosia that she used to make with marshmallows and pineapple and coconut and sweet cream in it. And, when I was lucky enough to meet her in the elevator, I got to spend six whole floors in a very slow, small, overly warm, steel box breathing her in.

I was dizzy, no giddy, no . . . I'm not even sure. I didn't mind that the elevator was too warm. The warmth intensified the whole experience. I struggled to keep my breathing normal. I didn't want to scare her by hyperventilating for no apparent reason.

I glanced down at the humongous dog on the end of the leash she held, and I felt an inexplicable pang of jealousy. I took a few seconds to run my eyes over her exquisite body. She was wearing a pair of low slung jeans that appeared to have the potential to be older than her. They were slim enough not to swallow her whole, but weren't skin tight. They only hinted at the beautiful body hidden underneath, and they had threadbare holes that were obviously created by repeated friction from regular wear.

_Hmmm . . . friction_.

She was wearing two different colored tank tops, that melded into her shape, layered on each other; turquoise and terracotta. A long strand of mismatched beads had been looped around her neck a few times; it rolled sensuously over the swell of her supple breasts, and she had a few small delicate silver hoops in each earlobe. Her feet were mostly exposed in green flip flops, and even her toes were adorable. _Ugh. _

She had a colorful tattoo that covered the upper portion of her right arm and curled over her shoulder to end under the wide straps of her tank tops. The tattoo depicted a beautiful woman draped in gauzy white cloth and enveloped in flowers that wrapped her arm completely. The woman looked so innocent; I thought she might be an angel at first, but there were no wings. I was inclined to think of her as a maiden or a virgin. The flowers were full and colorful in beautiful shades of pinks, yellows, oranges and pale purples. After the first time I saw the tattoo, I spent an hour and forty-five minutes online discovering that they were mostly mums of different colors with a few small lavender asters interspersed throughout. I had studied the tattoo before, and I often wondered who the woman in the picture was supposed to represent.

It made her seem so brave compared to me. I wasn't afraid of the physical aspects of getting a tattoo; I was afraid of the permanence and finality of them. I didn't like tattoos on women. I liked tattoos on her.

My eyes moved back down to the bag she wore slung over her shoulder. It looked like it had been made out of a sari, and it was open at the top. I noticed a book peeking out, and smiled to myself. She had been carrying this book around for almost a month, even though she sometimes brought others intermittently. It had taken me two Wednesdays and a lucky elevator Monday to figure out which book it was. In those Wednesdays, I had discovered that it had color blocks of blue, white and brown placed horizontally across the cover, and that it was a soft cover. I managed to read the largest word on the cover, _Poems,_ but that didn't really narrow it down enough. The Monday following, she was holding the book cover out in the crook of her arm as I stepped into the elevator.

_Poems: American Themes. _I went out, tracked it down and bought it that same Monday.

I had been skipping through it, landing on poems that I liked. It seemed to be a collection of early and mid 20th century American works. Now that I knew it was poems, though, I wanted to know which ones she was reading. I had read novels _with_ her, but that was easy. Just open the book and we are both enveloped in the same story. A compilation of poetry was too diverse. I had no way to determine which poems only garnered fleeting glances from her, which ones she read until the book's pages unfurled them for her, which ones made her laugh, cry, think. I languorously inhaled her and closed my eyes for a moment, imagining alternate realities in which I could _just_ talk to her.

I was jolted from my daydream by the sounds of the doors sliding open and the accompanying bell. And the highlight of my day was over. Actually, she was walking away from me with an enormous dog. I watched her hips swing slightly, sensuously with unconscious grace for a moment.

I stepped out of the elevator and nodded at Mike, unsure if he even noticed me. I walked approximately five feet past the elevator door to my left and entered the stairwell.

11:11 a.m. I moved up the steps with a measured but leisurely pace, and my head had already begun to whirl out of control. The notes were conducting themselves so rapidly that I couldn't focus my mind on them fast enough to register anything coherent. I tried to moderate my pace even more, hoping to calm the cacophony into something manageable. By the time I reached the third floor, 32 steps, I was snarling with frustration. The din only grew and soared to even more unintelligible altitudes.

_How was I supposed to do anything with_ this_? This...this babel of notes?_

I ceded my measured steps, and took the last four floors two steps at a time, barreling towards my door. As I stepped inside, I slammed the door, and pressed my back into it.

I stalked over to my desk, and shoved myself down into the chair fiercely. I picked up my soft leaded pencil and hovered it over the blank sheet with clef lines printed on it. I knew that most young composers would write their scores on a computer, or liked to play it out and then write it down. I was more particular. I had never been able to just play it out. I could sit down and play something original, but when I tried to write it down later things got lost. The essence got lost. I could never recover the soul in the music. I preferred the pencil and paper for tactile, corporeal reasons. The sound of the graphite moving across the paper and the repetitive patterns my hand created as the symbols materialized helped me focus on the notes I wanted to marry into something greater. It was ritualistic and methodical. Essential patterns.

I squeezed my eyes shut to try and sift out the various notes that were streaming erratically through my head. As my mind tentatively strained towards a focus, I started to see her behind my eyelids.

_Her eyes were dancing as she watched me; her mouth curved into a warm, soothing smile. She reached out and stroked my cheek with the back of her hand._

The second I felt her _touch_ me, I gained a modicum of clarity. I jerked my eyes open to stare at the page, trying to put the notes down before I lost my concentration again. As fast as it was there, it was gone. I forced my eyes shut with a frustrated grunt.

_She tangled her hand into the hair at the nape of my neck and kissed me with ferocity. Then her hands were dragging her fingers from my neck and down across my chest as her tongue explored my mouth._

My breath hitched in my throat as my eyelids pressed together tighter.

_Her hands moved down further to brush and then press the bulge in my pants._

I undid the button on my pants and pulled the zipper down slowly. I pushed my boxer briefs down over my erection, taking my pants down with them slightly.

_She reached into my pants, taking my length out in her hands. Pulling her face back slightly, she gave me the most delicious grin. I watched the delicate fingers of her left hand wrap around me, not quite meeting each other. She began stroking me from base to tip with firm, confident strokes while brushing her other hand lightly over one of her cloth covered breasts. I let out a low moan as her mouth met mine again. _

_She stroked faster, now using both hands, as she pushed her tongue roughly into my mouth, pulsing it in a counterpointed rhythm with her hand. Her sighs and hums quickly picked out a harmony to mach her thrusting hands and tongue. My growls began to pattern themselves into a baseline accompaniment. Her hands stroked quickly, and I felt a heat begin to smolder in the pit of my abdomen. The burn ignited, and as the flickers licked up my torso and down through my legs, I heard our sounds meld together into a perfect symphony. Then my orgasm burned through me, cum pulsing out of my twitching cock, and she smiled peacefully at me._ _And my mind was calm._

I slowly opened my eyes and groaned dejectedly. "Shit," I muttered as I looked down at my hand. I had mastered the art of embarrassing myself in a room full of no one.

I walked to my bathroom while holding my pants up with my right hand. Once I was at the sink, I turned on the hot water only. I waited until I could see the steam coming off of the water, and pushed my left hand under the painfully hot stream to wash away the sticky evidence of my humiliation. I scrubbed my hands with the soap until I couldn't tolerate the heat anymore. Then I turned the water off, and grabbed my hand towel. I hung my head, so I wouldn't have to look at my face in the mirror as I tucked myself back into my pants. I knew I would see shame, but, worse, I would see contentment, peace. The calm peaceful feeling only contributed to my feelings of perversion.

I felt no shame because I pleasured myself. I was quite comfortable with masturbation. My issues were deeper. I knew that I was nowhere near the normal end of the spectrum when it came to the human condition. I was complicated and idiosyncratic, and I kept mostly to myself because people found me odd and difficult to understand. I was tired of justifying myself to others, but even I couldn't help but feel depraved because of my newest _quirk_. I had basically been stalking a seemingly innocent girl for six months, and pleasuring myself in a mad frenzy while I imagined her doing wicked things to my body. _Wicked and Delectable. Ugghh._

I knew it wasn't exactly _stalking_. I didn't follow her about. I had no idea where she lived. I had never gone through her mail. I didn't know her social security number, or her favorite food, for that matter. It was more like watching with intent to lurk. Creepy. It was still creepy, and, as strange as I knew myself to be, I was not _that_ guy. But I was that guy.

As I straightened myself up to walk over to my piano, I felt the strongest pang of disgust. Lately, _over the last . . . um, six months_, this was the only way I had managed to compose anything. I tried my hardest to work the way I always had, but it was no use. I would sit at a blank page, practically howling my frustration, until I finally broke down and imagined her touching me. Once I came, despite the disgust I felt in myself, I could sit at my piano and create the most beautiful music. When the melody flowed out of me that way, I had no trouble documenting the score perfectly later. It was all for her. Always for her.

It didn't change the fact that I felt akin to a dirty old man in a trench coat waving a lollipop at a cute little girl, though.

She wasn't a child, but she just seemed clean and fresh and good. I felt like I was throwing a beautiful white flower in the mud when I imagined her _that_ way. Both literally and for all that a fresh white spring flower could represent. I mean, I didn't even know her name, and I defiled her in my head on a daily basis.

I settled myself on the piano bench, and found the poetry book, _for lurkers,_ propped up where my sheet music would go. I picked it up and began to read through more of the poems. I was startled by a poem that felt so close to home. Well, if home was my mind, it was more of a cold and isolated and gray and condemned industrial building, but close enough.

The words felt like me. The prosaic and methodical nature of my mind. The constant familiar repetition that I needed to function. Then the words were a question and a challenge. I was safe and happy with my routine, though. Wasn't I? I had built this pattern for my life because I needed that. Didn't I? It made me feel a thousand times less crazy and a thousand times more crazy than I already felt, all at the same time.

I left the book open to the poem and set it back on the piano, so I could still read mind drifted to her again and I wondered if she could see herself in those words. I wondered what they made her feel about herself. I let my fingers hover a few millimeters above the keys for a moment, and then I began to play.

**BPOV**

I let Jake pull me along while I was lost in thought. My brain was running a million miles a minute trying to keep track of my week. I had to help my sister Rose and her husband Emmett out and work at their restaurant tonight and all day Thursday. I still had a hard time believing that Em convinced Rose to open a restaurant (she doesn't cook), but maybe she just got tired of trying to feed him at home. He could eat more food than the rest of the family combined in one sitting. I smiled as I remembered last Christmas dinner.

The nights I wasn't helping at the restaurant, I babysat my beautiful two year old nephew while Em and Rose were still working. He was a rambunctious ball of energy, and I loved getting to spend so much time with him while he was still so young. He looked like the perfect combination of my sister and her husband, and his personality seemed to merge their best traits as well. He had Emmett's dark brown bouncy curls and Rose's deep indigo eyes. I smiled as I thought about all of my attempts to get him to pronounce my name correctly; we were still stuck on "Behwuh".

I told my best friend Alice that I would edit her final thesis paper for her, and she needed it back by Wednesday. She was so excited to be finishing Grad School, finally. She had taken a year off after college before deciding she wanted to go back. Alice would pick up shifts at the restaurant a couple days a week too. Rose and Emmett were having a hard time finding good servers, and we could both use the extra money.

I had signed up to tutor kids at the community center a while back, and they had asked me if I could plan to be there Wednesday and Friday afternoon this week. My fridge was barren, and I was wearing a pair of jeans that, while I loved them, were actually older than me. So, somewhere in there, that meant a trip to the grocery store and the laundromat.

_Hmm. Grocery store first; I'm out of detergent. _

I started to pull scraps of paper out of my jean pockets trying to decipher any other commitments that I may have written down and promptly forgotten. Of course, then there was this job; the only one that didn't fluctuate. I had a date with Jake every Monday, Wednesday and Friday at 11 a.m., and I really enjoyed it.

If I was completely honest with myself, this job was more hassle than it was worth because I was only getting a paycheck for three hours a week, and any other job I might be able to do had to revolve around those hours. The simple fact that everyone who loved me continually hounded me to quit this job would, normally, have seen me bailing months ago. But I hadn't left yet. Jake wasn't the reason I enjoyed it either. I liked Jake; he was a good dog, but I wouldn't really miss him if I didn't walk him anymore. He was just a big oaf of a monster mutt; goofy, and that's about it.

_If_ I was completely honest with myself, the only reason I still had this job was apartment 702. I was responsible for keeping Jake company three days a week for one hour each day. I told everyone who asked that the job was two hours each of those days because of apartment 702.

I made my usual stop at the coffee shop on the corner to get a hot tea (English Breakfast for today) with milk as Jake and I strolled back towards his apartment building. As we passed through the lobby, I nodded absentmindedly towards Mike.

I pushed the button to wait for the elevator to take us back up to the eighth floor. When the elevator arrived and the doors opened I was startled by the warm air that gusted into my face. This elevator was always so damned hot! I hustled Jake through the doors before they could automatically shut again.

One time the doors started to close on the big buffoon, and he went completely nuts before they even touched him. It took me a whole month to get a 200 pound dog back into the elevator because he was afraid the doors were going to attack him. It wouldn't have mattered much, but after walking him for an hour, the last thing I wanted was an eight story hike back to the apartment.

We arrived on the eighth floor, and Jake darted out of the elevator, dragging me completely out of the lift by his leash. I managed to calm him down and get him to sit, so I could unlock the door. Finally, I manhandled Jake into his apartment and stepped inside behind him. I put my tea on the small table in the entry way and set my bag down on the floor near the door. I hung his leash back on its hook, and I walked to the kitchen to refill his water bowl with fresh water.

He was completely on to me as I tried to sneak his treat out of the box with stealth, and he cornered me against the counter in his excitement. Quickly, I shoved the cookie into my pocket, so I could lure him to his pillow. As soon as I got within ten feet of the gigantic plush pillow, he trotted obediently over to it, spun quickly and sat. I told him he was a good dog, and I patted his head as he crunched the peanut butter dog cookie to bits.

Excitement started to build in my stomach as I grabbed my bag and tea in the entryway before stepping into the hall and locking the door. I went to the stairwell and headed to my favorite place to be. I walked down to the seventh floor, and as I pushed the door open I could already hear _him_ playing.

I stepped to his door and lightly pressed my hand over the cool 702 just below the peep hole, feeling the sounds reverberate through the fibers of the wood and the molded metal . It reminded me of a heartbeat. A simple feeling and sound that embodied so much . . . _more_ than its simplicity suggested.

After a few seconds, I turned around, and I leaned against the wall next to the elevator, across the hall from apartment 702. I pulled my bag to hold it in front of me, and I grasped my hot cup of tea carefully as I slid slowly down the wall into a seated position.

I could feel my anxiety slip away as I listened to him play. I sipped my tea and closed my eyes. A contented hum escaped my throat. I had no idea who the pianist was. I only knew it was a man because I asked Mike about the tenant once, and Mike said _he_ was very private. Apparently, Mike wasn't allowed to talk about the tenants, and he didn't want to get in trouble or risk getting me fired.

_This. He_ was why I still had this job. This was a swanky building, and I would have a pretty hard time trying to sneak in to sit on the seventh floor for an hour three times a week. I already knew Mike wouldn't let me in if I no longer babysat Jacob, the traitor; didn't he know he was the help, too? I giggled quietly at myself, and thought about the mystery musician.

My idea of him fluctuated. Most of the time he was a genuine, sweet older man in his fifties or sixties that had lost his wife, and no longer used his talent for anything but anonymous hallway concerts. I didn't really have a reason to suspect that he was older, but his music was so soulful and melancholy and practiced at times; I found it hard to imagine a younger man encompassing that kind of depth into sound. Sometimes, depending on the music he played, I truly couldn't see an old man. The music would be too exuberant or youthful or even sexy. Maybe I just didn't want to associate an older man and sexy. I giggled again and felt my cheeks flush.

_Oh, really! I'm completely alone with no one to be embarrassed around. Can't my body figure that out?_

Leave it to me to embarrass myself to myself. That doesn't even make sense. I giggled a little too loudly and immediately smacked my hand over my mouth to muffle the noise.

As I listened to him play, I felt like all the things misaligned in my universe were set aright again. That was another reason I wouldn't tell anyone why I liked to sit in a hallway three times a week. Pretty much everyone I knew would scoff at me like I just informed them that I had started reading Tarot Cards to predict the outcomes of sporting events, or something.

His music always seemed to feel custom tailored to me. He always seemed to be playing to my mood, or just _for_ me. I'd never heard any of the pieces he had played before, and, as far as I could tell, he had never played the same thing twice.

I felt my muscles melt, and my mind stopped spinning with my busy week. A restful sigh escaped my lips as I let my head lean against the wall. I sipped my tea and thought about what I was hearing today. The music was normal, predictable, even repetitive, but it carried an undertone of angst.

I was instantly reminded of the wash, rinse, repeat feeling I often struggled with regarding my day to day life. Even though my schedule seemed massively inconstant, I felt like I was on a repeating loop with no change of scenery sometimes. The one element of my schedule that never changed was the intent behind all of my plans. Almost every aspect of my schedule, on any given day, was focused on me doing something for someone else. I always felt like I was doing favors. The only parts of my week, besides laundry and grocery shopping, that felt purely selfish for me were the hours I spent sitting in the hall on the seventh floor.

I liked helping others, and not everything I did was charity. I did receive pay for many of my jobs, but I believed it was possible to perform a task selflessly and still receive money for it. Mostly, I wasn't involved in anything that fed my intellect, my wants, my motivations. Except for this.

As the crescendo wove its way into the music, the music stayed comfortable. No, actually it became _more_ comfortable, but the notes were developing into a question too. How interesting. Wait, not just a question. Maybe, a little bit of a challenge.

I was inspired to pull my poetry book out of my bag, and I flipped through it. I was skimming the pages looking for something that fit with my mood, _my_ music. I stopped on a poem and my jaw slackened. Having read it already, I knew the poem. It was one of my favorites in this book. I read it again voraciously while The Pianist played.

They fit together beautifully; I was stunned. I read it again and again.

I let my head fall back to listen. When the crescendo rose for the second time, I felt my cheeks flush and warmth started to spread through my chest. It was a sweet, gentle heat that filled my torso and started to radiate out to my limbs. It reminded me of getting into my car on a warm day after leaving a cold building; pleasant shivers tickled my skin. I could feel the warmth pushing all of the strain and stress and uncertainty out of my body. Everything was right in my universe, here, now.

Then I heard a missed key. _Huh_.

I'd never heard his fingers slip before. His fingers always seemed so sure, transferring no hesitation into the notes. The next chord was tentative as if he were testing out different combinations. Not _as if_. He was! It had never dawned on me before, and I couldn't believe I'd never realized it.

He was a composer. I guess I just figured that I didn't recognize what he had played previously because my knowledge of various piano compositions wasn't exactly vast. While he continued to struggle with different options, I decided it was probably time for me to go. Rose would be expecting me soon, and I had been sitting here for over an hour already.

I pushed myself off the floor slowly.

"Oof!" I had somehow managed to bang my head against the wall and drop my bag with a loud thud at the same time. I looked down quickly to take inventory of all my parts, and when I realized I had managed to hang onto my tea without spilling it, I did a celebratory shimmy. I was grinning like a fool, but that was normal after one of my _therapy_ sessions.

Suddenly, I froze as I realized that the music had completely stopped. I didn't know if he heard me. I didn't want him to catch me sitting in his hallway. Talk about disturbing social behavior.

I immediately blushed to a deep shade of, what I would call, eggplant, and bit down hard on my lower lip. I spun to face the elevator, then the door to the stairwell, then back to the elevator. Ugh! Nope, it had to be the stairs.

I darted for the door and ducked into the stairwell as quickly as possible. Once I had made it a couple of floors down, I took a deep breath and a loud belly laugh escaped from my mouth unbidden. My hand flew up to my mouth again as the laugh echoed through the stairwell, and then I just gave up and let it out. I stood in the stairwell laughing at myself until tears streamed from the corners of my eyes. I finally managed to pull myself together and wipe off my face, so I could head down to the lobby.

When I pushed the door open on the first floor, it jolted in my hands with resistance as someone caught it before I smacked him in the head. _Damn my luck today!_ My eyes flew up, mortified, to see my latest victim. _Okay, maybe my luck isn't all horrible. _Standing directly in front of me, half hidden behind the open door, was HotElevatorGuy.

_Oh yeah, I forgot to mention him didn't I?_

Well, he is the second reason for me to keep my job here. I didn't know his name, which explains my cleverly devised nickname. _Snort_. I saw him in the elevator _a lot, _and what girl in her right mind would complain about a nice piece of eye candy?

As usual his hair was in complete disarray, and it reminded me of the thrashing waves of stormy water. Oh, and sex. It reminded me of sex, too. The color was nigh indescribable. More shades of brown, copper and amber passed through my head than I even realized I was aware of. It seemed to fall somewhere between a bronzy-umber and I-need-to-lick-you-from-head-to-toe-to-figure-that-color-out. The eyebrow I could see was raised in curiosity over the most intense, vibrant green eye I had ever seen. I followed the dangerous edges of his jaw down to his chin, and I could almost detect an upturn at the corner of his luscious, should be illegal mouth.

Aaaand . . . cue dumb Bella. As in, nothing would come out of my mouth. I just turned into a damned mute. I could never get anything out when he was near me. I managed to close my mouth after a few moments. I swallowed loudly, mumbled an "I'm sorry" and quickly moved towards the front desk as I felt my cheeks begin to heat up. Halfway across the lobby, I tucked my head to my shoulder and peeked behind me to see if he was still there. All I saw was an empty lobby.

I exhaled a deep breath and walked up to the counter. I crossed my arms on the shoulder high ledge and dropped my chin down to my arms. Mike jumped slightly when he realized I was there.

"Hey Bella!" He had asked me out before, but he seemed pretty harmless.

"Hi Mike. I just thought I'd come over and see if you've decided to come over to the dark side yet?" I gave him the most charming smile I could muster, tweaked up one eyebrow and tried to make my eyes twinkle. _Can you even do that?_ HotElevatorGuy could. All I got from Mike was silent confusion.

"Are you ready to roll over on him or not? I _need_ the info on apartment 702!" I tried to keep grinning and keep my desperation out of my face. I wasn't even sure why I wanted his name. I wasn't planning on stalking him. _Erm, well, any more than I already was_. I just needed to know his name. I felt like he knew me; he played for _me. _Having his name would feel more personal. Like an introduction for someone with disturbing and misguided social skills. Mike scowled.

"I don't know Bella . . ." he looked reluctant.

"Mike, I swear I just want to know! That's all. No one will even know you told me," I was wheedling now. Mike looked down at the counter. _Yes! Check your list, Mike!_

"His name is Edward Cullen, and that is _ALL_ I will tell you! You're not getting his phone number," he shook his head, but he was chuckling at me. _Phone number?_ Wait, I wanted his phone number! Yeah, that'd be even better. I could call and breathe into the phone before hanging up in cowardice. That would be just great! Ugh.

Bouncing on my heels, I ignored my demented train of thought and leaned over the counter to peck Mike on the cheek. "Thanks, Mike, so much! I'll see you later." I skipped out the front door.

When I got to The Garlic Clove, Emmett and Rose's restaurant, I was distracted, to say the least. I was in robo-waitress mode, and my thoughts were somewhere completely different.

"Bell?!" Rose yelled at me with a challenge on her face. As if she would have liked to have yelled, "Bell, what the fuck?!"

I giggled at her. I enjoyed being around Rose when she was trying to be customer-centric. She shot daggers at me out of her eyes, and stomped over, gracefully. Rose did everything gracefully.

"What's going on with you Bell? I called order up like three times!" She was trying to be nice, probably because she didn't have anyone to take over my shift. I scoffed trying to be tough and blow her off. She gave me the crazy eye. Then, I broke.

"Okay, look I'm just really distracted. I'm sorry." I did feel kinda bad that I was dropping the ball; a little.

"Well, we have a little lull, so why don't you take a break?" She'd really been working on her people skills. I was impressed.

"Thanks, Rose," I said with genuine relief. "Do you mind if I use the internet in your office?" I asked her.

"Go right ahead, Baby Girl!" Emmett yelled at me from four tables away, "Oh, and thanks for the suggestion about the roasted garlic! The customers love it."

"When he says 'the customers' he really means himself," Rose whispered conspiratorially to me behind her hand, "he's eaten just as much garlic as we've served!"

"No problem, Em," I called back as I smiled at Rose and headed towards the office. Last week I had recommended that they serve whole garlic cloves roasted in olive oil for customers to spread on the french bread instead of butter. Honestly, I didn't think it was that ingenious; the restaurant _was_ called The Garlic Clove. It kinda made me think in garlic.

My fingers aimlessly tapped out patterns on the desk as I waited for the laptop to start up. I figured, maybe, if I googled Edward Cullen, I could remove at least one of the 8 gajillion subjects swirling in my head. If he was a composer, as I suspected, he probably had a bio somewhere online. I flopped into the chair at the desk and typed his name into Google. After a few moments, a list of possibilities appeared on the screen. Only the first two links actually had the names Edward & Cullen together.

I clicked on the first one and was rewarded with a small review of a piece he had composed about a year ago. _So, he _was_ a composer_. It had been performed by some big symphony. The reviewer seemed to think his music was inspired, and he threw around words like genius and virtuoso. I searched the whole page for any personal information. There was nothing. Absolutely nothing. No picture. No age. Nothing. The next link was just another review, like the first. Different composition, and no personal information.

Ugh. Well, I have his name. I'll just have to be happy with that. Maybe someday I'll be brave enough to knock on his door and introduce myself, pretending I just happened by, of course. I was sure he was a nice old man that might like some company. Okay. _Get over it, Bella. _

I did my best to pay more attention for the rest of my shift, and was rewarded with a smiling Rosalie. That was worth more than the paycheck. I loved her and wanted her to be happy and all of that stuff, but mainly I just hated when she was mad or aggravated. Even though she fumed gracefully, no one wanted to see it. If Rose was in a bad mood, everyone was, or would be soon. She would make sure.

When I got home I didn't even see Alice, and I headed straight to my bedroom. It wasn't that late, but, still, I was exhausted. Leaving the light off, I dropped my bag next to my dresser. I closed my door, and abandoned my clothes in a trail to my bed. I slid into the cool sheets, grabbing a pillow to hug, and burrowed down under my comforter. I was asleep before my eyes had time to adjust to the darkness in my room.

_. . . HotElevatorGuy was kissing his way down my abdomen. When he stopped over my belly button, I looked down at him to see what had stopped him. He was staring up at me through his thick lashes, and the rich, scintillating green of his eyes was sparkling. _

_He dipped his tongue slowly into my belly button, flicking the tip lightly against my skin. I moaned unexpectedly and clapped my hand over my mouth, blushing. He smirked, the sexiest fucking smirk I have ever seen, at me, and I felt more heat flood my face . . . and the area between my legs. _

_He tilted his head down and began trailing lusty, open mouthed kisses towards my pelvic bone. He pulled back and stared between my legs. Then he ran his fingers, from my knees, up the insides of my thighs, making me shiver. I gasped when he added more pressure and shoved my legs further apart. He looked down, and his face transformed with lust. He slid his hands further up my thighs to my wet lips and opened me for his mouth. _

_He started at the bottom of my opening and forcefully licked his way up to my clit in one fluid stroke. His tongue darted out then to lick my wetness off of his lips, tasting me. My eyelids fluttered closed, momentarily, as I moaned loudly. His mouth began sucking and tonguing my clit, and at the same time, he pushed two fingers deep into me. I groaned and breathed out loudly, wrapping my fingers into his tempestuous hair. _

_He created a strong steady rhythm as he plunged a third finger into me and curled them up towards that sensitive spot inside. I moaned and panted in time with the pace he set for my body. His tempo began building into an intense crescendo, and he started nipping at my clit with his teeth. I felt a warmth start to fill me, spreading out from the pit of my abdomen. As I started to lose myself to the sensations, I heard _my_ music. My gasps and moans were the melody, and as I looked down at HotElevatorGuy, I could tell that he was smiling into me. A triumphant smile. As if I was his instrument, and he was coaxing me to his masterpiece. I closed my eyes to be able to absorb more physical sensations, and I felt my whole body begin to spasm ._ . .

My eyes popped open, and I could hear my panting. I was disoriented for a moment, and then I realized that I had just had an intense dream. _And amazing, don't forget that. oh, and, uh, earth shattering . . ._

"Whoa." I whispered to myself. That had to have been the best, strangest dream I'd ever had. I mean the feeling was unbelievable, but I was a little flabbergasted by the things my subconscious had decided to throw together. I mean HotElevatorGuy was, well, absolutely beautiful, so that was a fairly obvious mental leap. I found it strange that while he was very _oral_ he wasn't very oral. As a matter of fact he didn't make a single noise through the whole dream. Strange.

_Smack your head in a "Duh" moment Bella_. I'd never heard him speak before! Okaaay, I was going to have to figure out how to remedy that soon. In the interest of a, um, well rounded subconscious.

The ultimate strange element, though, had to be _my_ music. It was definitely the piece I'd heard most recently, and the closer I got to coming, the fuller and more magnificent the musical arrangement became.

"Whoa." I whispered again. I definitely didn't want to think about a sweet old man playing _my_ music now. That single thought alone made my cheeks burst into flames. I felt like such a perv thinking about a sweet old man, in any way, associated with that dream. _Ewww_.

I shook my head slightly and got out of bed to go take a shower. Today I had to go to the grocery store, then the laundromat, which was sure to take hours, and somehow find a way to edit Alice's thesis paper for her. I shrugged into my light cotton robe and tied it closed. I walked out of my bedroom to take over the bathroom, and almost ran into Alice as she was walking out of the kitchen. She was holding her coffee cup up to her nose like she was obsessed with smelling it constantly as she sat down on the couch.

"So, Bella," my eyes narrowed at her tone, and then I saw the smirk in her eyes that she was trying to hide in her coffee cup. I could already feel my cheeks flushing as I turned around resolutely to head towards the bathroom.

"Hey, it's not nice to ignore me! I just wanted to know if you slept well. So, Bella, _did_ you sleep well?" And then the little smart ass started cackling loudly, like the witch she was. I sighed; at least she was usually on my side with her evil genius and crafty voodoo, or she purported to be, at any rate. I still hadn't made my mind up yet. The rest of today might just have to weigh heavily on that decision. I snorted to myself and started the shower.

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**a/n: *peeks out through fingers* So, what did you think? I have at least four more chapters close to the same length planned for these kids if you want them. As you could probably tell earlier, I'm weird when I am unsure of myself ("public consumption" need I reference more?) so let me know what you think.**


	2. Dead Kennedys & Cake in the Park

**a/n: I have already gone off the reservation. Originally, I intended to have each chapter be half EPOV and half BPOV. My OCDward never shuts up, so he has taken over this chapter. The next chapter will be completely BPOV**.

**Many thanks and much fawning are owed to my shiny, new beta Viola Cornuta. Thank you for helping me with my addiction to that. **

**The poem referenced belongs to Kenneth Fearing and is called _American Rhapsody (4)_. As mentioned last chapter, it inspired this story.  
There are some songs mentioned by a band named Cake. They aren't hugely important to the story, but it _is_ funnier if you have at least heard Italian Leather Sofa. With this in mind, I am linking them in my profile. Go listen. It's fun.**

**Disclaimer: I own a couple of Dead Kennedys cds, some great recipes and everything Cake has recorded to disc. I don't own these kids. Not one bit...though, I know which bit I'd choose if I could.*snort***

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**EPOV**

My hands felt raw after being aggressively scrubbed under the hot water again. I dried them roughly with the towel I had pulled from the rack in my bathroom. I stared at my face in the mirror, and I couldn't fight down the permeating revulsion, which seeped through me. I wanted to beat the look of contentment staring back at me out of my body.

_Her lips kissed down my abdomen. She licked languid circles below my navel . . ._

I slammed my fists down into my thighs to try and refocus my thoughts.

_Her tongue swirled around my length before she moved her mouth completely over my erection . . ._

I was losing my mind. That could be the only explanation. I was insane. I was reminiscing about a fantasy. I was recalling something which never actually happened. I knew I was insane the moment my spurious memories seemed more real than any real memories I had.

_She sucked forcefully as her delicate fingers pressed into the muscles over my hips, her hands gripping my sides, my cock sliding over her warm tongue . . ._

And I was hard. Again. She was so beautiful. She felt so good. _In my imagination. _I had to try to remember _I_ had just stroked _myself_ to an orgasm, furiously, even. And then there was the lubricant. The fact I had used the lubricant only made me more disgusted with myself. It seemed so much more intentional. It seemed like I wanted to use her. _I did._

I desperately scanned my bathroom. I didn't know what I expected to find. I didn't even know what I wanted. _I wanted her_. I hated myself for coveting her. I wanted to make her scream out in pleasure. I felt debased just for thinking about her that way. Nothing in my life had ever led me to feel so fractured before. Before her.

I had always known what I wanted. I knew what I needed to function. I made decisions. I created plans. I stuck to my plans. I set boundaries, made rules. I followed the rules I made for myself. No exceptions.

Six months ago, I had broken the rules I imposed upon myself regarding her in the first week.

Allowing myself to follow that beautiful creature, I had decided I could not indulge sexual fantasies about her. The first Monday and Wednesday had been agony. After seeing her, I had raced back to my apartment. _Really_ hard. Instead of allowing myself release, I stood in a frigid shower for more than half an hour. I awoke the following mornings with sticky sheets and feeling much like a hormonal fourteen year old. That Friday I broke my rule. I broke down.

When I saw her on Friday, something snapped. I couldn't get back to my apartment fast enough. I ferociously rubbed and pulled myself to an orgasm so violent I bellowed out my pleasure and pain. I wept. I wept for over an hour. I wept for the calm in my head. The quiet harmony was nothing I had ever experienced. I wept for my pain. For the rule I broke. The searing pain in my chest which ripped me apart. That was the first time I couldn't get myself to be whole. Whole in one decision. Whole in one feeling. I had been divided ever since. I didn't want to defile her in my mind. I couldn't avoid it. I couldn't avoid her.

I cringed at my absurdly vivid memories from last November, and I sulked over to my piano and sat down. I didn't know why I felt so much more horrible than usual. _Twice in one day_. My feelings weren't the normal times two. I was in exponential quantities here. I took a deep breath, willing myself to calm down. I reasoned with myself that most of my panic came from shock. I was completely unprepared to see her twice in one day.

I don't know what I had expected when I stepped out of the elevator into the lobby this afternoon. Definitely not her. I still wasn't sure why I had even taken the elevator down. The doors closed me into the small space before I had given much thought to my decision. Hearing a noise outside my door, I had stepped out into the hallway to find nothing. Even if there had been something to catch, my taking the elevator was completely pointless. By the time I reached the ground level I was sure I had just heard a neighbor banging around. Feeling rather sheepish, I had rushed over to head up the stairs back to my apartment.

My hands flew out in front of me, catching the door to the stairs just before it smashed into my head. I had been completely unprepared to see her. She looked serene. Blissful. A moment of aggravation flashed across her face as the door jolted forcefully back into her hands; then chagrin, as she obviously realized she had almost concussed someone. Her face glowed as her eyes rolled up to mine. I watched the frustration disappear from her devastating brown eyes as her mouth relaxed; sumptuous lips slightly parting as she exhaled a breath. I almost fainted. The stairwell door held me up. I clung to it. I was glad, for the second time, I had caught the door.

I was frozen to the spot. I was in shock. She held me there. Her eyes, her mouth, they held me. I forgot to count to five. I had no idea how long I had been staring, but I knew I wouldn't stop until she let me go. My lips started to curve into a smile. I hoped she would speak. I had heard her voice, but she had never spoken to me. Finally, she broke my gaze and mumbled, "I'm sorry," while she hurried towards the front desk.

Gulping in large breaths, I had run as fast as I could back to my apartment.

Looking through the recent memory at my piano keys, I rationalized with myself to calm down. I would have handled the situation better if I had been expecting her again. I doubted the truth of my reasoning, and tried to stop thinking about her.

I checked my watch. 2:37 p.m. I glanced over at my desk but decided not to waste my time with pencil and paper. I knew the outcome. Trying to put my mind in a different space, my fingers hovered over the keys.

The only piece I could force my fingers to play was hers. I got stuck in the same place every time, unable to move forward. I still hadn't finished the composition. I couldn't seem to progress, but my fingers couldn't find anything else to play either. I checked my watch. Again. 5:13 p.m. Finally, I gave up for the day, flopping my body across my couch with a huff.

I clicked the TV on with the remote. Looking over the guide, I selected a show on the Discovery channel before I noticed what I was doing. The show was about tattoos. I watched it with minimal interest for a while.

_She had a pretty tattoo. She looked so sexy with all of those colors on her arm. I wanted to trace all of the lines in her ink. With my tongue . . . _

Okay. I decided for my own mental health I had to turn the TV off. I shifted up into a sitting position and looked around my living room. _When had my apartment become so boring? _

I checked my watch. 6:09 p.m. Suddenly, I was starving, and I realized I hadn't eaten lunch. Instead I had masturbated with her in my head, for the second time today. _Ugh._

I walked to my kitchen to decide what I felt like eating and what I felt like making. Then I had to let them fight it out in my head until one side gave in. Surprisingly it was easy for me to settle on a sandwich.

I sliced a section of the focaccia bread I had picked up at the bakery down the street. Putting it into my toaster oven, I set the dial to half the darkness I liked and pushed the button. I pulled the pre-washed arugula from the produce drawer of my fridge and washed it in the sink. I pulled the chunk of Gruyère from my meat drawer and set it on the counter. Before I closed the drawer, I also grabbed the ziploc bag of roasted turkey left over from the small turkey I had made a few nights ago for this purpose.

Pushing the drawer closed with one hand, I grabbed the container from the door holding my homemade roasted garlic herb mayonnaise. I let the refrigerator door fall closed behind me as I turned to the counter. The toaster dinged at me, and I quickly grabbed the bread and dropped it onto my cutting board.

I cut a few thin slices of the Gruyère and spread a layer of mayo over the insides of the bread. I pulled some turkey from the ziploc and made an even layer of it on the bottom piece of the bread. Following the turkey, I added a layer of the cheese.

I placed the bread, turkey and cheese layer back into the toaster oven with the top piece. Checking the setting, I pushed the button again. Lost in thought, I watched the Gruyere start to melt with disinterest.

_I wonder if she would like my food. _

Aside from my music, food was the only thing I was confident I could do well. I was really proud of some of the things I had created in my kitchen.

The bell on the toaster startled me back to my task. I made sure the toaster had turned itself off and opened the fridge for a tomato, leaving the sandwich for the moment. I sliced off a few thin slices and took the sandwich from the toaster. On top of the cheese went the tomato and some salt and pepper. Lastly, the arugula and the top of the bread. I pressed down on it carefully, marrying all of the separate ingredients. I sliced it through on a diagonal and transferred both halves to a plate.

I placed the knife in the sink and pursed my lips in thought. I decided to have some fruit with my sandwich, and reached into the fridge again, glad that I had cut some up and stuck it in there for future use. I grabbed a Hoegaarden from the door and decided to forgo the glass and the orange slice. I spooned some sliced pineapple and strawberry onto my plate. I popped the top off my beer, grabbed my plate and walked into the living room.

I normally didn't sit at my table to eat unless someone else was joining me. So, I normally didn't sit at my table to eat.

I devoured my sandwich, and for the first time all day, I felt myself relax a little bit. As I slowly chewed sweet, ripe pieces of fruit, I sipped my beer. Finally feeling somewhat sane, I realized I was exhausted. I had been a frantic, nervous wreck all day. I looked at my watch. 7:41 p.m. I debated going to bed this early. Ultimately, I decided against it. I wouldn't be able to go to sleep quickly enough. Which would be dangerous for me. Dangerous for my sanity. Once the lights were off, my mind would wander. Recently it only wandered in one direction.

I entertained turning the TV back on and was grateful when my phone rang. For a moment, the distraction my phone provided relieved me, then it dawned on me I would need to answer it for full effect. Standing up to find my cell phone before it stopped ringing, I wondered who would be calling me. It was a very short list. The most likely culprit would not accept a brush off to voicemail. He would call back, repeatedly, until I answered. He would know I wasn't busy. I looked at the screen and confirmed it.

"Hello Jasper," I spoke into the phone after pushing the button.

"Edward, hey man, how are you?" Jasper was my manager. Despite my attempts to deter him, he was my friend, too.

"Fine." I wasn't in the mood to talk. I wasn't even sure how to answer that question. _How was I? Disturbed, antisocial, depraved, oh yeah, and I think I'm insane._

"Okay. How's the music?" He wasn't pushing for business information. I knew Jasper. He was just trying to get me to start talking. He couldn't know that I would have an even harder time answering this question. _Well, Jasper, I see this girl in my building, and I masturbate like a wild man. Afterwards all I can play is one song. Oh, and I can't finish it._

"I don't know, Jas," I shrugged my shoulders even though he couldn't see me, "I guess I'm just having a rough day." I walked to my kitchen with my empty beer bottle and tossed it into the trashcan causing the clink of glass against glass. I grabbed another from the fridge and took off the top.

"Edward, are you drinking?" _Damn his stellar observational skills._

"Why would you ask that?" I evaded. I wasn't very good at evading him.

He chuckled, "You think I don't know the sound of an empty bottle hitting the bottom of the garbage can?" _Shit, I shouldn't have tossed it._ "Besides I heard you pop the top off of another." _Why are new cell phones so damned receptive when I don't want them to be?_

"So?" I asked. He was going to have to get to his point on his own. I wasn't helping.

"Man, you don't normally drink more than one beer in a sitting." He was right, "Are you sure you're okay? Do you want me to come over?" _God, no._

"No. Jasper, really, I just had a rough day," I tried to sound casual. I tried not to sound like I felt, like a crazy person.

"Well, I can tell by your _subtle_ hints you want to talk even less than normal," he said in a playful tone, "I'll let you go, Edward. I'm calling in a day or two, though, and you _will _talk to me," he teased, and I could hear the smile on his face. I also knew he completely meant it. I would have to talk to him when he called again. He would make me, or show up at my apartment. I shuddered as I remembered the last time I ignored him.

"Bye Jas," I said with finality and pressed the end button before he could respond. Immediately I felt guilty. Jasper was a good friend. I tried to convince him I was too much of a pain for him to deal with outside of managing my career, but he would have none of it.

We had met in our first semester of college. Intro to Music Theory. I think we were the only people in the class who were actually planning to major in music. Everyone else was there for an easy 'A'. We used to joke that Art Appreciation must have been full. Eventually, Jasper had focused on working in the industry as he really enjoyed his Business for Music Majors classes. It was inevitable he would become my manager. I don't think he would have given me a choice, not really.

Jasper just accepted my quirks. I had even more then. We ended up rooming together after that first semester, which was very lucky for me. He respected all of my strange requests about our shared space. He never tried to make me change for his convenience.

He was the only reason I could say I went to a bar during college. He was the only reason I could say I wasn't a virgin, for that matter. I only had the courage to approach girls with his balanced combination of liquid courage and unshakeable confidence in me. We quickly discovered I did best with less liquid and more support. I cringed when I remembered the first and last time I got smashed.

He had basically carried my raving drunk self across the whole campus to our dorm. When we were so close I could smell the late night smokers on the front steps, he tried to get me to stand. He asked me to put my feet down, and I had assured him I was ready to catch my weight. A second later I was flat on my back on the ground. Jasper had panicked until I started laughing hysterically. He dragged me to my feet, and somehow, I managed to walk through the doors. Pushing the button for the elevator, he apologized to me for not taking the stairs.

The elevator stopped at our floor, and we waited for the doors to open. A moment after the ancient elevator had lurched to a stop, I felt my stomach do what felt like an aerial pirouette with a very bad landing. My whole body instinctively turned to the corner as my dinner and many drinks came back up just as the doors were opening. Jasper had simply leaned over and pushed the stop button and patted me gently on the back. He pulled me to our room, dragging me into the bathroom and turning on the shower. He made sure I was okay to shower, and left the bathroom. When I got out of the shower, he had a bottled water and some Excedrin, insisting I had to drink the whole bottle. After waking up and wishing for death the next day, I found out he had cleaned out the elevator while I was in the shower. He wasn't going to tell me, but I wouldn't let it go.

A pang of guilt shot through me again. Jasper was a great friend. I didn't deserve him. When he called back, I would apologize and try to talk to him.

After finishing my third beer, I felt drowsy enough to safely go to bed. I turned the light on in my bedroom before I made my way through the rest of the apartment, turning all of the lights off. I checked the lock on the front door and closed the bathroom door on my way down the hall. Pulling my bedroom door closed, I stepped into my bedroom. I took off my clothes, folded them and placed them into my hamper. I closed the door to my closet and walked to my bed. Making sure the sheet was folded over the top edge of my blanket I slid into bed. I reached out towards my nightstand and turned off my lamp.

As soon as my eyes adjusted to the dark, I saw her next to me.

_She reached out and gently brushed her fingers across my forehead, ruffling my hair lightly._

I smiled blearily and closed my eyes. Before I could panic about seeing her again, I was asleep.

All I could see was her face, and I was becoming increasingly aware of something thudding against my head. My eyelids peeled apart, and the thudding became sharper. My room was ridiculously bright, and the thudding wasn't against my head. It _was_ my head.

7:47 a.m. The clock on my nightstand informed me I had woken up before my alarm. Groaning loudly, I rolled off my bed, and my feet met the floor just in time for me to remain upright. I shuffled into the kitchen and poured a glass of water before grabbing a couple of Excedrin from the cabinet. Gulping down the water, I walked back towards my bathroom.

The steamy shower, cold glass of water and Excedrin combined to work their magic, so by the time I was dried off and dressed, I felt human again. After pouring myself some coffee, I made myself some toast, and ate it with the rest of the sliced pineapple and strawberry from my fridge. I turned on the TV, turned down the volume and changed the channel to CNN. After an hour of unimportant news stories, I turned off the TV. Nothing urgent to report today.

I sat at my desk and picked up my pencil. My eyes drifted out of focus as I stared at the page. My mind was silent. Not harmonious or calm. Silent. There were no notes. There _was_ a face. I was grateful the sexual urgency usually attached to her image in my mind wasn't there. It was exasperating, though, the silence. I sat frozen for a while until my eyes began to burn. Realizing I needed to blink brought me out of my daze.

I resigned myself to the idea that if there were no notes there could be no score, and I got up to change my clothes. Picking out some comfortable running clothes, I grabbed my sneakers. After changing, I grabbed my iPod and headed for the door.

Once I was on the sidewalk, I selected the loudest playlist I could find and turned it up. I concentrated on the music blasting into my ears, and the repetitive meter my feet were pounding into the sidewalk. After running for a couple of miles, I slowed to an easy jog and kept going. When I had been gone for over an hour and a half, I decided I should head back. I slowed to a walk because I wanted to delay the inevitable boredom of my apartment a little longer.

I spent the rest of the day reading_ her_ books and poems. I was able to go to bed early because the hours of cardio had done their job, draining me. Exhausted, I turned out the light, and I couldn't help the swell of excitement which filled my chest when I thought of what tomorrow would bring. Wednesday. The weather was supposed to be beautiful, thankfully. Wednesday _we_ went to the park.

My alarm went off at 8:00 a.m. _Wednesday!_ I woke up feeling refreshed and weightless. I made myself a savory omelet and enjoyed my coffee leisurely. Standing at the kitchen sink, I washed my dishes by hand. I was attempting to waste as much time as possible.

The warm water of my shower infused me, and I lingered until my fingers began to pucker. I wandered around my apartment in my towel for a few minutes trying to kill more time.

I took my most comfortable pair of dark jeans out of my dresser and pulled them on over my boxer briefs. Knowing it would be warm, I yanked one of my favorite worn band tees over my head. I figured my black Gazelles would be appropriate shoes for the park and grabbed some socks.

10: 19 a.m. Now I had to wait. I daydreamed about what she would be wearing, what she would be reading, when her eyes would meet mine. I imagined myself talking to her and laughed at how ridiculous the idea seemed. I couldn't talk to her. I had no idea what to say. _Besides, then she would know I was crazy._ Imagining her smiling, I wondered what it would feel like to be the cause of her happiness.

At 10:57 a.m. I couldn't take the waiting anymore. I broke my routine and walked down the stairs. Walking through the lobby, I was justifying my change in plans to myself. I would walk around the park a couple of times to calm down, and before I knew it, I was sure she'd be there. I was so determined to follow my new plan I almost didn't see her talking to Mike at the desk.

She was wearing a full, casual skirt which stopped near her knees, and the natural colored fabric was gathered into a wide waistband she had pulled down low on her hips. Her t-shirt may have been stolen from a small child judging from the size. I could only see the back, but it was stretched in a way which made me want to see the front. As she leaned on the desk, I could see an inch of creamy skin between the dark gray fabric and the top of her skirt. I had a sudden urge to lick it. _Ugh._ Her unrestrained mane of hair tumbled freely down her back, dancing with her small movements. She was wearing her green flip-flops again, and I noticed, for the first time, she had a word tattooed on the inside of her left heel. Although I couldn't make out what it said, I wondered if she had any others. _Hmmm . . ._

I moved quickly out of the lobby, so I could maintain my composure. I didn't want to have to cut my Wednesday short. I wandered around the park noticing the evenly spaced magnolia trees hadn't bloomed yet. They didn't belong here. The original landscaper clearly hadn't appreciated the value of indigenous greenery. I wondered if they would bloom at all. Sadly, I had lived here for a couple of years, but I hadn't noticed the magnolias in the park until I had noticed her.

While I stood there lost in thought, she walked over to her bench with the humongous dog and sat down. Her legs were pulled up onto the seat crossed underneath her. The dog lay down in front of her as she pulled a book from her bag. I walked away from her to loop the park casually, trying not to make myself obvious. After a few leisurely laps, I found myself in my favorite stretch of the loop again.

I was walking towards her, facing the bench she had melted into. Facing her. Her brows knitted together in thought as she considered the open book resting in her lap. She moved a hand over the page gently and slowly pushed the two halves of the book together. A light breeze swept from behind me to caress her face and pluck at her hair, whipping it gently around her. She tilted her head up and smiled, a quiet, private smile with her eyes closed. Her eyes opened abruptly, and her gaze was locked on mine.

Until that second, I hadn't realized I was frozen in place about ten feet directly in front of her. I willed myself to move. Nothing happened. I counted well past five, but I couldn't seem to avert my stare. _Great. Now she'll know I'm crazy. _I tried to convince my legs to flee. I told my feet to run. I ordered my head to turn. My whole mutinous body ignored me. Her smile grew, shifting into a grin. _Ugh._ I wanted to lick her teeth. _There was something wrong with me. _

Then the unthinkable happened.

"Hey, you live in the apartments over there, don't you?" She gestured vaguely. I had no idea where. She spoke. _To me_. I thought I couldn't move a second ago. Not only did I have no direction over my conscious movements, I now lost a few automatic functions as well. I stopped blinking. I stopped breathing; thankfully, not long enough to pass out. I couldn't think. She looked at me like she was waiting for something. She was. _Shit, talk_.

"Uh, mm . . ." that was stuttering. I tried again. "Yeah . . . yeah, I live over there," I gestured vaguely. Possibly in the wrong direction. She recognized me. Suddenly, I was desperate to keep her talking. I was desperate not to make more of a fool of myself by talking too much. In a stroke of astonishing genius, I was clever enough to ask her a question.

"Is that your dog?" I already knew the answer.

"Hmm?" Her eyes were glazed over, "Oh, Jake?" She looked down at the horse under her feet, "No, I walk him three days a week." I followed her eyes down to the ground. Jake's tongue lolled out of his mouth in a sloppy grin. The muscles in my body relaxed an iota, and I looked back up to her shirt. The front of her dark gray shirt featured a cartoon sheep with the word "cake" on it leaping into a hole underneath it, and it strained obscenely over her beautiful breasts.

"So I guess it's band t-shirt day?" I said with a chuckle, and a genuine smile stretched across my face. She glanced down to her chest, and when her eyes came back up to mine, she looked at me with confusion and suspicion. _Oh shit._ That sounded like I was keeping track of her wardrobe. Mind racing, I tried to think of some sort of distraction. Thankfully, I remembered what I was wearing and suggestively glanced down at my own shirt. Her eyes cleared and disappointment flashed across her face for a moment. _Odd._

"Oh," she looked amused, "Dead Kennedys?" She smirked, and one of her eyebrows tweaked up curiously.

"I'd bet more people've heard of the Dead Kennedys than Cake," I teased back.

"Don't get cranky just because _you've_ never heard of Cake," She giggled. _Oh Dear God. I made her giggle._ It felt like she was testing me. My eyebrow quirked up this time.

"Well, I have a hard time deciding whether I like _Nugget_ or _Satan Is My Motor_ more," I shrugged, "I guess my favorite song just depends on my mood. I'm assuming you like _Sheep Go To Heaven_?" I made it a question as I pointed at her shirt. Her eyes widened, and her mouth fell open in surprise. Then her eyes narrowed, and the corner of her mouth turned up.

"Well, I liked this shirt, and I do like that song," her tone made me nervous, "but my favorite song would have to be _Italian Leather Sofa_. I like the lyrics," she finished with a smirk. I knew the song. I knew the lyrics. She was definitely teasing me. My eyes shifted down, away from hers, as I felt my cheeks flush. I was blushing. She made me blush.

Staring at her crossed legs, I tried to hide my embarrassment. She was sitting in a strange combination of Indian Style and Lotus position. Her left foot was resting on her right knee, while her right foot supported her left knee. Black letters inscribed on her left heel induced enough curiosity to overpower the embarrassment. I was close enough to read it this time. In quirky lettering I could read the word "Deviant".

Looking back up to her face curiously, I noticed her glance down to her foot and back up to me. It was her turn to blush. She was so beautiful like that.

"So, you're a deviant?" I pointed at her heel, "your label, not mine," I put my hands up, palms out facing her, in surrender. She was adorably embarrassed for another moment, and then her eyes narrowed and her lips pursed. I gave her the friendliest smile I could muster, hands still in the air.

"It's not meant to be as incendiary as it seems," she said sheepishly. She quickly reversed the position of her feet, so her right foot was now visible. On her heel in solid, plain, black letters, I could easily read the word "Conformist".

"When I was younger, I got them to remind myself doing what I wanted and following what I believed was as simple as one step, but getting sucked into something I didn't agree with because of pressure from social norms was, also, as simple as one step. I also wanted to remind myself the best paths in life aren't just black or white, and, like most people, I will usually walk with a mixture of both, no matter how hypocritical it seems," Her shoulders twitched up in a miniscule shrug, and she looked at me nervously after her explanation.

"Okay," I said it with acceptance. Honestly, I didn't know what else to say. My brain wouldn't come up with an adequate response, but my urge to know how her mind worked had just magnified immensely.

"So, what's the story with that one?" I gestured towards her right arm. I felt guilty continually asking her questions, but I couldn't think of anything else to say. I was sure she would realize how odd I really was if I spoke too much.

She tilted her face down to her shoulder brushing her cheek against the inked skin. Eyes closing slowly, a quiet sigh escaped her lips. It felt very intimate. I felt like I was invading her personal moment. I shifted my attention down to Jake, wanting to give her space, but unable to make myself leave.

"I wanted something that represented me," she started, "and reminded me of my mom," she finished in a quieter voice. I waited. No questions this time.

"I'm a Virgo, and usually the representation for the sign is a virginal woman," she wrapped her hand over her shoulder and slid it smoothly down her arm. I had to clench my teeth to keep my mind in an honorable place.

"The flowers are mums and asters. They are the flowers associated with Virgo," she hesitated, biting her lip, " When I had the tattoo done, I brought a picture of my mom when she was young. She looked so innocent and full of life. My mom was always alive inside. She acted like a kid at the aquarium every day, everything was always new and exciting for her. She died of breast cancer three years ago." Her fingers brushed lightly over the face on her arm, and then a tiny shiver ran through her body.

"I'm sorry," I said pathetically. I didn't know if I was apologizing for her loss or because I inadvertently brought it up. Probably both.

She gave me a soft smile and a forgiving look. A second later, she seemed fine. With an uncommon burst of confidence, I sat down on the bench while she patted Jake's head. He glanced back at her with adoration.

She looked down at the book in her lap as she shifted it aside. I took the opportunity to officially change the subject.

"What are you reading?" I already knew the answer.

"It's actually a collection of poems," her face lit up. I had assumed she was passionate about literature, but the confirmation written on her face made me feel giddy.

"Which is your favorite?" I was aching with curiosity. I tried to maintain an air of mild disinterest. I failed.

"Whoa . . . I could never pick just one," her eyebrows pulled together creating the cutest look of consternation. I chuckled at her earnest contemplation.

"Don't hurt yourself. Why don't you just read me one you like?" As soon as the question flew out of my mouth, I felt like an idiot. I couldn't seem to stop asking questions that made her uncomfortable. Now I was requesting a performance.

Her eyes cut to me with surprise, and I tried to smile. I grimaced. She fingered the corner of the book nervously and took a deep breath. She held the book up so the pages would open of their own accord. Her eyes shifted over the page lovingly.

I felt so bad for putting her on the spot. I opened my mouth to take my request back just as she started reading in a soft, shaky voice.

" 'First you bite your fingernails. And then you comb your hair

again. And then you wait. And wait.

(They say, you know, that first you lie. And then you steal,

they say. And then, they say, you kill.)' "

She stumbled a bit at first, and she paused to take a shaky breath. Then she continued in a clear strong voice,

" 'Then the doorbell rings. Then Peg drops in. And Bill. And

Jane. And Doc.

And first you talk, and smoke, and hear the news and have a

drink. Then you walk down the stairs.

And you dine, then, and go to a show after that, perhaps, and

after that a night spot, and after that come home again, and

climb the stairs again, and go to bed.

But first Peg argues, and Doc replies. First you dance the same

dance and you drink the same drink you always drank before.

And the piano builds a roof of notes above the world.

And the trumpet weaves a dome of music through space. And

the drum makes a ceiling over space and time and night.

And then the table-wit. And then the check. Then home again

to bed.

But first, the stairs.

And do you now, baby, as you climb the stairs, do you still

feel as you felt back there?

Do you feel again as you felt this morning? And the night

before? And then the night before that?' "

She paused again. Keeping her head tilted down towards the page, her eyes rolled up to peer at me through her lashes. The truth in her eyes startled me. I was sure, at that moment, she could see right through me. My lips parted slightly, and my breathing sped.

" '(They say, you know, that first you hear voices. And then

you have visions, they say. Then, they say, you kick and

scream and rave.)

Or do you feel: What is one more night in a lifetime of nights?

What is one more death, or friendship, or divorce out of two,

or three? Or four? Or five?

One more face among so many, many faces, one more life

among so many million lives?

But first , baby, as you climb and count the stairs (and they

total the same), did you, sometime or somewhere, have a

different idea?

Is this, baby, what you were born to feel, and do, and be?' "

"_American Rhapsody," _I whispered in a breath. I surprised her with the title. She halted on the spot. Her body unmoving.

We stared at each other.

We stared at each other for much longer than five seconds. I didn't know what to say. The pages had unfurled for her the very same poem I had read more times than I could count. She didn't speak.

We were interrupted by strange singing. She jumped slightly, and reached into her bag. Pulling out her cell phone, she looked at the screen. She looked at me and mouthed _sorry_ before she pushed a button, pressing the phone to her ear.

My mind drifted as I listened to her speak. The harmony was all I could hear; I didn't try to hear her words. She sounded like life and exuberance and serenity and every piece of music I had ever loved. I started to feel anxious and out of place. I had been wasting her time. I asked her rude questions. I needed to try to leave her alone. I was being selfish. I thought it would be rude to leave while she was on the phone. My body tensed with indecision.

She was looking at me apologetically when my eyes shifted nervously back to her face. The phone was back in her bag, and she was standing up.

"I'm so sorry to be rude, but I have to run," she said with exasperation. "Jake's owner made an appointment for him and forgot to tell me. We're already late," she called over her shoulder walking away from me.

"No problem," I called back, delivering a weak wave to her back. She looked back once more, and her fingers peeked over her shoulder.

"Bye," I heard it as a whisper. I watched her hurry away. I stared at the same spot and imagined her movements over and over again.

I wanted to live on this bench. It was the best piece of furniture I had ever used, indoors or out. Eventually, when I felt stuck to the wood, I forced myself to get up. I was so overwhelmed I wasn't sure what to do with myself.

Once I was back in my apartment, I sat at my piano. I felt no sense of frustration or urgency. My fingers sought out her notes effortlessly. I played it once through, not worrying over the incomplete parts, and leaned forward, pressing my forehead against the cold lacquer. I closed my eyes, and her face smiled at me.

_I pulled her face close enough to feel her breath on my lips, and her eyelids closed softly. Feeling the luminous skin of her cheeks under my hands, I barely brushed my lips over hers. A subtle sigh escaped her parted lips, and I felt her warm fingers grasp my neck. My fingers smoothed across her cheekbones and up to lace into her hair. I pulled her hair gently to tilt her face up to mine as a soft moan escaped her lips. She melted into my mouth as I pressed my lips more firmly to hers. Her lips started a fiery rhythm against mine, and her tongue pushed in between my lips to caress my tongue. With a low groan, I slid a hand down her body to rest at the small of her back, pulling her tighter to me. Our kisses became more frantic as her hands slid up to grip my hair. Never breaking our kiss, I slid my other hand from her hair and down the delicate column of her neck. My fingers traced the path of her collarbone to her sternum as my breath hitched with desire. _

_I broke our kiss and leaned back until her eyelids fluttered lightly; her deep brown eyes were flooded with lust, and I felt my pants tighten across my stiff erection. My eyes held hers as I slowly grazed the pads of my fingers out from her sternum across her breast._

"_Ahhh . . ." she exhaled, and her body seemed to tremble. I palmed her breast and squeezed it before drawing my fingers together to the center. I gently pinched her firm nipple and then tightened my hold, rolling it between my thumb and forefinger._

_I was rewarded with an inhaled gasp just before my mouth crashed onto hers again. She rubbed her hands needily against my body everywhere she could reach while I slid my hand to the hem of her shirt. My fingers stroked the bare skin of her stomach and over her ribs before pulling the fabric between us up and over her head. Our mouths reunited a moment after her body was free of the shirt, and both of my hands moved to her back unclasping her bra. I slid the straps down her shoulders, and she dropped her arms to accommodate me._

_After her bra fell to the ground, I gently pushed her away just enough for me to see her. She whimpered as our kiss broke, but when she registered what held my attention, her expression became a silent invitation. I kissed her deeply once more before I followed the column of her neck down with my lips, my teeth, my tongue. I drew patterns with my tongue and punctuated them with little nips and kisses. Following the same rhythm, I licked and kissed my way down to her lush breasts._

"_Fuck," she whispered as I took one of her perfectly pink, stiff nipples between my lips and sucked it into my mouth. When I flicked my tongue against the tip of her nipple, her hands returned to my hair, fingers weaving tightly, pulling. I moved one hand up to tease her other breast while I sucked with more force. My other hand stroked down her side, over her hip and down the outside of her thigh. When my fingers reached her knee, I slid them under the hem of her skirt and caressed slowly up the inside of her thigh. _

_She whimpered at my fingers' lazy pace, pulling my face closer to her body in frustration. I continued my languid exploration of her body, despite her obvious anticipation. At the top of her thighs, I let my fingers barely whisper over the lace between, keeping most of my focus on the smooth skin of her legs. _

_I concentrated on her breasts again, making sure to show them equal attention, while my fingers casually tickled and traced over her supple thighs. When I brushed against her panties again, she gasped, and I felt her knees loosen momentarily. Finally, I let my hand press more firmly against her, feeling her arousal through the thin mesh. _

"_Oh God, please," she begged, using the fingers wrapped in my hair to pull my head away from her chest. Her eyes were filled with want, need and pleading. She was the sexiest thing I had ever seen, and I felt my cock grow even harder. I moved my mouth up to hers and kissed her completely, trying to communicate all of the desire I had to please her. While our mouths communed without sound, I dragged my fingertips over the lace to the waist of her panties. Pressing my palm against her abdomen, I snaked my fingers down between her soft skin and the sheer fabric. _

_I groaned loudly in a wave of wanton delight that washed over me as I felt her. She was completely bare, and my fingers followed the warmth to her slick folds. I slid my middle finger just barely between her lips and drew it slowly from her opening towards her clit as my other fingers brushed along the outsides. _

"_Ung . . . please . . ." she whimpered again, and I repeated the actions of my fingers. When I reached her clit again, I added more pressure while simultaneously licking her nipple roughly. She gasped again, and her body shivered at the contact. Using my other fingers to open her for me, my middle finger stroked a steady rhythm against her clit. Her breathing sped and became louder. I continued to lick and suck her nipples, allowing my teeth to graze them carefully._

_Her breaths turned into pants, and I increased the speed of my fingers, working her towards her orgasm. I looked up at her face, and saw her eyes roll back into her head. I could tell from the look of sanguine bliss on her face she was very close._

_I slowed my pace and reduced the pressure slightly while I moved back up to ravish her mouth. She whimpered into the kiss, and her hand moved down my arm to cover my hand between her legs. She pressed into my hand with need as I felt more than heard something close to a sob against my mouth._

"_Don't worry, baby, I want to make you feel good. I just wanted to see your face and hear your sounds for a little longer," I said against her lips with a smile. Her eyes pled with me for a release, and I kissed along her jaw to hover over her ear. I dragged my fingers along her slippery lips in long slow strokes from her opening to her clit as I exhaled soft, warm breaths over her ear._

"_Fuck, you're so wet for me, baby. Your hot little pussy is driving me crazy; I'm gonna make you come so hard you won't be able to stand," I growled into her ear as I pushed two fingers into her opening. A breathy yelp escaped her lips, and I bit down on her earlobe. I added a third finger as I thrust, and curled them forward when they were buried inside her. Gasps and pants partnered my movements as I pressed my thumb against her clit to coax her release. _

"_Uhh . . . uhnn . . . faster, ohhh . . . harder . . . fuhhhck!" I watched her glorious face contort in pleasure before I started to suck forcefully on her nipple, teasing the other with my hand. Her noises got higher pitched and more animalistic as my fingers could feel her muscles start to pulse erratically. I pushed my thumb hard against her clit as I bit her nipple flicking the tip with my tongue._

_Her walls clamped down on my fingers violently, hands clenched my hair and the most beautiful sound escaped her mouth: part scream, part sigh. Her head was thrown back on her neck, and my free hand wrapped around her back just as her knees slackened. Her rapture was the most magnificent thing I had ever seen, and her body pulsing around my fingers sent shivers of delight through my body. I leaned forward to press delicate kisses against the smooth skin of her neck as she came down from her ecstasy. She looked at me and smiled with wonderment._

"_You okay?" I asked quietly as I studied her face._

"_More than okay," she sighed in contentment, "I heard music." She flashed me an enigmatic smile and stroked my face with her warm hand._

I opened my eyes to see glossy black varnish a few inches from my face. That was the most intense fantasy I'd had about her yet. It was also the first time she wasn't pleasuring me. _Huh_.

I didn't feel anxious like usual. Shifting on the piano bench, I realized I was as hard as a rock. Never having ended a fantasy about her without an orgasm, I wasn't really sure what to do. My cock was aching now that I was fully aware of it, and I decided I should probably do something about it.

I went to grab the bottle of lube from my bedroom and a hand towel from the bathroom before walking back to the piano. I slid the bench out a little farther and lowered my jeans and boxer briefs before sitting down. I set the towel on the bench next to me and poured some of the lube into my hand. Rubbing my hands together, I coated them with the slick fluid, and it warmed against my skin. _She was so slick for me. _

I closed my eyes and started stroking myself with both hands. I relished how warm and wet she felt while I pumped my hands up and down my cock. I used one hand to tease the head as my mind replayed her sounds for me. Both hands moved back to my shaft and picked up speed as I heard her say "faster", "harder". Remembering her muscles clenching around my fingers, I squeezed my hands tighter. I imagined what her muscles would feel like enveloping my cock. I saw her face behind my eyes, the pleasure written in her every feature. My stomach started to tighten in anticipation, and the burning started to move out into my limbs. As I fantasized about being responsible for her bliss, my erection throbbed, and I caught warm, pulsing streams of semen in my hand; a slow, sweet release rippling through my body in waves.

I rested my head against the piano to catch my breath. My chest heaved, and I was still panting. Finally, taking a deep breath, I sat up again and grabbed the hand towel next to me. I wiped my hands off, and stood up to pull my pants back up. Walking to the bathroom, I felt drained. Content.

I washed and dried my hands, and walked back to my living room. Lying across my couch, I realized I wasn't miserable. I tried to figure out what was different. The only change I could pick out was the nature of my fantasy. Always before, my fantasies involved her performing sexual acts for me. They were never mutual. Always a mouth or hands or breasts. We never even had normal intercourse. I hadn't thought about making her come before.

I closed my eyes and draped my arm over my face. Tranquility imbued my whole body and my breathing slowed.

She was smiling at me, and I knew the music playing in the background. My eyelids felt stuck together. I tried harder to pry them apart. Finally, they ceded, and I sat up quickly, confused. It was dark in my living room, and I could still hear that music.

I realized with a jolt I had fallen asleep, and that music was . . . _my phone!_ I ran to grab the phone in case Jasper had already tried to call, and I missed it. I couldn't believe I fell asleep. I hadn't been able to take a nap in years. I think kindergarten would be an accurate time estimation. I managed to find the phone while it was still ringing, and flung it to my ear without checking to see who it was.

"Hello?" I breathed heavily into the phone.

"Are you _busy_, Edward?" I heard the raised eyebrow even if I couldn't see it. He was such a smart ass.

"No, Jas, I'm _handling_ things alone, so I can just finish up while we talk," I panted intentionally into the phone.

"Man, that's sick! Ugh, I'm half tempted to hang up on you for that," he was laughing loudly.

"Your fault. You implied I would _actually_ answer the phone if I was _busy; _you're the only freak I know who'd do that," I teased.

"Well, I'm glad to hear you're in a better mood. Even if you're a total pervert," he chuckled, but for a moment his word choice felt too true.

"Edward? Hey, I was just joking . . ." he trailed off.

"It's cool. I just drifted off for a second. So, what goes on?" I asked. I was genuinely curious. I hadn't had a real conversation with Jasper in a while.

He told me he wasn't dating anyone, which wasn't surprising. He slept with girls more than he dated them. He told me a few of my compositions had been optioned for a movie, and he was excited about that. I guessed that he was able to negotiate a good contract for both of us. I didn't really think about that stuff. I knew I could trust Jasper, and I didn't worry about it.

My mind wandered, and I realized how lucky I was Jasper had never let me convince him to leave me alone. I wondered what he would think about my situation with _her,_ but I wasn't ready to talk about it yet. I wasn't ready to face it yet.

"Hey? Are you there?" Jasper asked in alarm.

"Yeah, sorry, I zoned. I've been really tired today for some reason," I apologized.

"Well what do you think?" He waited for an answer. _What had he been talking about?_ The last thing I heard him mention was something about a restaurant.

"Um, sure, great," I answered as vaguely as I could.

"So you want to check it out some time soon?" He knew how much I hated going out socially, but he could typically sucker me with good food.

"Sure, Jas, just let me know when," I needed to be a better friend anyway, "Listen, I'm gonna let you go. I really am tired."

"Okay, man, talk to you later," Jasper said happily and hung up the phone.

Thursday began for me with an uneasy sense of serenity. Actually, I felt pretty good. Calm. The uneasiness was simply my confusion over my current state of contentment. I didn't feel a draw to my piano or my desk, so I spent the day essentially wasting time. I rented a movie from the cable company I wanted to see. While I cooked down some chicken stock, I did a load of laundry. When I got tired of being inside, I got a coffee at the shop on the corner, and I went over to the park across the street to read on _her_ bench.

The closer the day came to a close, the more nervous energy accumulated in my body. I wondered if I would see her in the elevator tomorrow. I wondered if she would remember me, if she would speak to me. I was so excited by the time I went to bed, I was like a kid before the first day of school.

I wasn't surprised when I woke up before my alarm on Friday morning. I was, however, disappointed. It only meant more time to kill before I might see her. Taking as long as humanly possible, I completed my morning rituals in slow motion. I even took my contacts out to kill some time; opting to wear my black-framed glasses. Nervously, I checked and rechecked my appearance in the bathroom mirror. My hair seemed particularly disruptive today, and I got so frustrated I had to leave the bathroom before I found the scissors.

I meticulously made my bed. I figured, if I was going to stop at every mirror in my apartment to scrutinize myself in detail, I'd multi-task, so I windexed them all as I made my nervous rounds. For the last fifteen minutes I had resorted to pacing my living room in circles. I stopped at the window on each lap to peer down to the street as if she would look up and wave even if I could see her.

11:05 a.m. I was already standing at the elevator, holding my finger to the button. _Fuck the rules._

Less than a minute later, the doors slid open, and there she was. _Holy Hell_, I'd forgotten how exquisite she was. I felt so relieved to see her, like I had held my breath since Wednesday, my face broke into a huge grin before I could think.

She smiled back at me shyly. I panicked. _What was I thinking, ignoring the rules?_ _Oh, no_. I was staring. I counted to five and looked away from her face. I stepped into the elevator next to her and pushed the button for the lobby. I took a deep breath and tried to relax.

After a few seconds, I let my eyes wander back over to her. When I got to her face, she was looking directly at me. Clearly she remembered me.

"Good morning," she said warmly.

"Hi," I smiled back. I pressed my back into the wall of the elevator car. Even though we had a whole conversation two days ago, I still got dizzy and forgot to breathe when she spoke to me. Her smell was so strong and clean in this tiny space that it was making my head spin.

The doors opened to the lobby, and as she stepped out of the elevator, she turned back to look at me over her shoulder.

"Have a good day," she smiled sweetly at me, and winked. _What!? She winked at me?_ I must have been hallucinating. I had completely crossed over into my imaginary world. That was the only explanation.

I was so giddy when I stepped out of the elevator, I didn't know what to do with myself. I didn't want to race up the stairs and hide in my apartment.

I decided to go down to the corner and get a coffee. Before I could get myself under control, I almost went skipping down the sidewalk like a silly teenage girl. I tried to rein it in quickly, but a couple of bounces escaped.

The nutty, toasted smell of gourmet coffee overwhelmed me as I walked through the door. I waited patiently at the counter for the clerk to turn around and notice me. When he turned around, I smiled at my favorite barista. He smiled back, surprised.

"Edward, you never come in on Fridays anymore. It's good to see you," Seth was a genuinely nice guy. He was the only person who worked here with whom I had any kind of camaraderie.

"Hey Seth, it's good to see you too. Can I just get my usual, and where did you stash the good magazines?" I asked conspiratorially with a smile. I knew the staff hid the better magazines so they could read them.

"Sure Eddie, I'll bring your coffee over with a few choices of reading material for you," he did a funny little mock bow. I only tolerated the nickname from him because I knew he was teasing, and he didn't abuse it too much. And I seemed to find myself in an exceptional mood today.

I enjoyed the change of atmosphere immensely. My coffee was perfect, as usual. I had a specialty car magazine and a gourmet foodie magazine to peruse. Seth always made sure they were playing a good selection of music, and the shop smelled rich and delicious. _It smelled like her eyes looked_.

I shook my head slightly and chuckled at my insanity. I continued to flip through the magazines, and enjoy the sensory stimulation for a while. I was reading an interesting dessert recipe for a delicate panna cotta with fresh summer herbs and lemon zest in it. Imagining how the basil and lemon flavors would contrast nicely with the silky, creamy texture of a panna cotta, I read through the preparation. I could almost smell the sweet, fresh flavors. I could smell them. Absurdly, I moved my nose closer to the pages of the magazine, sniffing them. Thankfully, I didn't go so far as to scratch the page before I realized it just smelled like magazine.

Looking around, I was really surprised anything could smell strong enough in here to overpower the smell of coffee. After a quick sweep around the room, my breath caught in my throat. Well, of course. I was beginning to believe _she_ would overpower anything for me.

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**a/n part 2: I mean it when I say I want PM's or reviews regarding your thoughts on the story, good and bad! I will not yell back at anyone who tells me they hate it and all of the reasons why. I like it when people get in my metaphorical face and question everything I do. It motivates me to think. XOXO**


	3. Confusion, Coffee and a Cookie

**a/n: I just want to apologize for the delay with this chapter. Apparently, it_ is_ very difficult to write while driving. I found myself on a solo road trip wishing for a voice recorder! Next time I'll know better.**

**Muchas Gracias to my fabulously, brilliantly wonderful beta Viola Cornuta. Thanks for saying - WTF? I need more lemony stuff. (Not a direct quote; she's much more eloquent!)  
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**Disclaimer: Not mine. Not one bit. Well, I guess I can claim the dirtier bits . . .  
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**BPOV**

Euphoria; that was it.

I was completely giddy as I waltzed around the neighborhood with Jake on Friday. The weather was wonderful, and I was euphoric.

Having had the guts to talk to HotElevatorGuy on Wednesday, I had spent the following two days blissful. I wasn't exactly shy in every situation, but I had never had the confidence to start a conversation with someone who made me feel the way he did. _No one had ever actually made me feel the way he did. _I _thought_ attractive guys had made me nervous before him.

My obsessive desire to hear his voice gave me just enough of a shove to talk to him, well, that and the brilliant smile on his face as he stood in front of me in the park. HotElevatorGuy was playful in our conversation, and I was still surprised I didn't find his questions uncomfortable to answer. It was disappointing to have to run off so abruptly with Jake to the groomers. At least, I didn't have the opportunity to embarrass myself.

He was very _vocal_ in my dreams on Wednesday and Thursday nights. _Ugh, those dreams._ If I hadn't felt more alive than I ever had in my life the mornings after, I would've been sure they'd given me a heart attack. Strangely, my music was still there, but I tried to overlook the oddity. I assumed my subconscious was dragging my music into the mix because it made me feel so wonderful.

Even Alice's raised eyebrows, snickers and completely inappropriate questions didn't bother me anymore. I still hadn't told her anything about my dreams, the hallway concerts or the delicious man in the elevator, but my silence didn't stop her from prying.

This morning, when HotElevatorGuy stepped into the elevator, I was more nervous than I expected to be, and I was caught off guard. I'd planned to start up a lively conversation if I happened to see him today; to build on what I'd been brave enough to start on Wednesday. As soon as I saw his face, I felt like I'd gone without water for two days, and I was almost speechless.

Disappointed my shyness seemed to be dominant, I forced myself to speak to him. I only managed a couple of sentences, but I was really proud of myself for winking at him as I left the elevator. The look of surprise on his face rendered me a bit slaphappy, and I had nearly skipped through my whole walk with Jake.

So, euphoric on a lovely Friday before noon, I found myself happily slipping the silly horse-dog's leash onto the hook outside the coffee shop near the apartments. This neighborhood was very dog friendly, and most of the small businesses and cafés had some sort of hitching post for dogs outside.

Inhaling deeply as I stepped through the doorway, I noticed the smell was extra appealing today. I stepped up to the counter and looked over the menu boards.

"Hiya Bella," Seth greeted me exuberantly from behind the counter, "Jake outside?" Seth loved the giant dog and took every opportunity to play with him.

"Yep, he's anchored to the wall. Hopefully, he won't pull the hook off again," I chuckled as Seth smiled at the memory.

"Did you want the usual?" He asked me after a moment.

"Actually, I think I want coffee. It smells super good in here today for some reason," I smiled at him, and he waited patiently while I thought about what I wanted to order.

"I guess I'll just have a regular latte," I finally decided. I always thought I'd be adventurous and try something different, but I just ended up ordering the plain stuff I knew I liked. "Oh, and I'll take a shortbread cookie, please," I added with a conspiratorial grin.

"No problem; coming right up," Seth said as he glanced behind me at another customer and nodded with a smirk. I stepped to the side of the counter closest to the window, so I could keep an eye on Jake. He really could pull the hook off of the wall easily if he was tempted.

"Bella, your latte is ready," Seth pulled my attention away from the window and placed my cup and cookie on the counter near the register. I walked over to pay, so I could get back out to Jake. I hated leaving him outside for too long once the weather started to warm up. I picked up my cup and inhaled. It smelled really good, but just like a regular latte. It didn't offer the enticing element I continued to notice in the shop. Oh well, I couldn't exactly huff the whole store in an olfactory scavenger hunt.

"How much do I owe you, Seth?" I asked while I began digging in my bag for cash. Unfortunately, paper money never made it into my wallet, instead it simply floated around the innards of whatever sack I had slung over my shoulder. On a positive note, I always had some cash on me, but, on a negative note, I never knew how much cash I actually carried.

"Nothing," he said with a funny little smile as he reached across the counter past my shoulder. His hand pulled back with the addition of money in it, and my breath froze in my lungs at what I heard next.

"Just keep it all Seth. I owe you for mine, too," Seemingly normal words. It wasn't every day someone bought me coffee; that was nice. _Who was I kidding?_ I knew _that_ voice.

He bought me coffee. He was standing right behind me. _He_ smelled too delicious for words! All of the sudden I felt like I was sipping hot peppermint cocoa with marshmallows, eating vanilla cupcakes, catching fresh snowflakes on my tongue, all wrapped up in a fucking Christmas bow. Or, maybe, just like he was licking s'mores and cinnamon whipped cream off my naked body.

I vaguely registered Seth's response.

"Gee, thanks Eddie! You shouldn't have," Seth was teasing him; I was almost sure but couldn't be bothered to really think about it. My feet were still planted on the ground, and my eyes were staring a hole straight through Seth to nothing.

"Seth, one of these days I won't be in such a good mood," his tone was so ominous, I spun around without thinking. "You're just lucky today cause you brought me the magazine stash, but don't say I didn't warn you," his demeanor was almost frightening, but now that I could see his face, I wasn't worried. He was teasing Seth back. I didn't pay enough attention to what they had said to each other to pick up any humor. Still stunned, remember?

His eyes left Seth's face and settled on mine. His face colored with the slightest tinge of a flush, and his mouth curved into the hint of a smile.

"Hi," he breathed. I could hear him, barely, but I read it on his lips anyway. They were luscious, and I found it hard to look away. After a long moment of inappropriate staring, I looked up into his brilliant eyes and stammered.

"Hi, uh . . . um, you really didn't . . . I mean, let me pay you back for this . . . please?" Wow, was that even an actual question?_ Way to go, Bella, dazzle him with your wits!_ He chuckled at me openly, before he spoke.

"You're welcome," he said it with a smile which lit up his whole face.

"Sorry, thank you," I said embarrassed. "I really do want to pay you back, though; I can't even stay and talk cause Jake is tied up outside and I have cash in my bag and . . ." I trailed off. His eyebrows lifted slightly in amusement, and my face turned white-girl-after-a-week-in-Cancun red. I had just implied he asked me to sit and talk to him; he had done no such thing. He was obviously vacating his table and saying goodbye to Seth. Seth who had just witnessed my stellar ability to embarrass myself using my mouth alone.

I had no idea what I could say without causing myself further humiliation, so I settled for staring at the counter and shifting uncomfortably.

"I saw Jake outside, so I figured you were walking back," he shrugged. "No, you may not pay me back," he smiled. His eyes shifted down and his fingers toyed with the edge of his coffee cup, "I thought maybe I could walk back with you," he finished quietly.

I had to press my feet into the ground to avoid spontaneous shimmies of joy. He wanted to keep me company, and he bought me coffee and a cookie.

"Oh, sure, I'd like that," I said as I smiled back at him.

At almost exactly the same moment both of our eyes darted to Seth in a silent warning. _No mocking or teasing_. Seth gave us a wide-eyed innocent look and took a couple of steps back from the counter.

"Okay, well . . ." my body was moving towards the door and my voice trailed off before I could finish what I was saying. I wasn't saying anything; I was nervous talking.

He followed me quietly outside and stopped beside me as I reached to untie Jake's leash. Jake delivered a slobbery grin up to HotElevatorGuy as I glanced at him a few times furtively waiting, no, hoping for him to speak.

"It's pretty out today," I finally offered. The weather, really? Ugh. What was wrong with me? As I waited for him to respond, I used the opportunity to stare at him.

His skin was so smooth and lucent, I found myself wondering if he moisturized. Everything about his face seemed too perfect to be natural but didn't have the obvious overly groomed quality of a metrosexual. His lashes seemed too dark for his hair color, and I was wildly curious what colors I could expect the rest of his hair to be. And where it would be. _Oh God._

"Yes, it is. Are you planning on spending the day outside?" He looked at me curiously, my face mid-scrutiny.

"No, actually, I have to work at the restaurant tonight," I admitted dejectedly. I found myself wanting a clear schedule in case he might ask me out, or just want to walk around the block continuously.

"Restaurant?" His eyes reflected genuine interest. I told him all about the place and my sister, Emmett and their two year old Charlie. He seemed to enjoy hearing about the menu, and I enjoyed talking about it. Their menu was a huge labor of love on my part. Many of the dishes were suggested or created by me.

"My roommate Alice works there a few times a week, too," I added after answering his questions about the location and atmosphere. Jake impatiently hauled me forward, and I giggled effervescently.

"Do you get annoyed working with her and living with her?" He seemed to jump from one question to the next. I didn't mind answering him, quite the contrary, I found it strangely enjoyable, but I wondered when I would get to ask the questions.

"Nope. She's my best friend too, and a lot of our shifts end up opposite of each other anyway," I shrugged. He asked me if I had any other jobs, and I told him about tutoring and watching my nephew. He looked at me thoughtfully as if he were trying to dissect my words to find some deeper meaning.

For a second, I saw his face fall into a mask of distress, and then he stepped around Jake to my side so he could open the lobby door. As we walked through the doorway, he followed closely behind me.

"You seem like a profoundly and innately good person," he whispered into my hair, and I could feel his breath warming my neck. A shiver went through my body.

My eyes widened in surprise, and I turned to search his face for some understanding. I couldn't marry the sad expression and dejected tone with the surprisingly kind words. He almost seemed disappointed at the discovery.

"Thank you," I whispered back solemnly. I didn't know how else to respond to his observation. His eyes shifted away from mine as he studied the door to the stairwell at the end of the room.

"Hey Bella!" Mike was practically bouncing in his seat. He was normally a friendly guy, but it was excessive, even for him.

"I need to tell you, um, something about new building procedures," Mike said suspiciously in a business-like tone. I glared at him and raised my eyebrows insistently, willing him to interpret my glare. I could only hope Mike heard me saying _"Shut the fuck up; not a good time!"_ with my eyes.

When I looked back apologetically, HotElevatorGuy was a few paces ahead of Jake and me. He turned towards me with an uncomfortable look and forced a smile onto his face.

"I'd better go. I've wasted enough of your time," he was walking backwards and his face softened into a warmer expression, "I really enjoyed our conversation, thanks." He turned and hurried toward the stairwell before I could rebuke his negative assumptions. The giant dog at my side pulled forward and whined longingly after him. I knew exactly how Jake felt. I had no idea what was wrong with the man, but I knew he was completely earnest when he said he enjoyed talking to me. I wasn't sure how I knew, I just did.

With a disconcerted sigh, I turned back to Mike leveling a demanding look. _What the hell was so important?_

"So . . ." Mike had his eyebrows raised expectantly and his lips were clamped together by his teeth inside his mouth as he tried not to smile.

"So what?!" I snapped. Jake looked up and whined querulously.

"I thought you said you weren't gonna track him down," he laughed.

"What?" I had never considered Mike enigmatic before, but you could call me fucking puzzled.

"You promised me you wouldn't track him down and get us in trouble!" The words should have sounded angry, but I could tell Mike was teasing me. I still had no clue what the joke was, though. I stared at him, my brows furrowed and mouth slackened.

"You said you wouldn't harass Cullen; you just wanted his name," Mike tried to help me along as he realized I was still wholly confused. Cullen? Why was he talking about Edward Cullen?

"Mike, I haven't even _seen_ the man. What are you talking about? Did someone complain?" Had I gotten Mike in trouble? Had someone seen me sitting in the hallway? I had no clue where he was taking this conversation. Was this some strangely elaborate joke?

"Well, you seemed pretty comfy chatting away with him outside the building; I guess I just thought you had tracked him down," he shrugged. He was obviously crestfallen because of my lack of ability to keep up with his teasing.

"I was talking to . . ." _HotElevatorGuy_. What was his name? I didn't know his name; he never told me. Wait, Seth called him something . . .

"Mike, I was talking to . . ." _Holy shit._ Eddie.

Seth called him Eddie.

Short for Edward.

"Edward Cullen. You were talking to Edward Cullen. Hold up, you didn't know that was him? You're, like, the worst stalker in the world!" He was gleeful, "For real, Bella, how many times have you talked to him? Was that the first time?"

The hot pink shade of my entire fucking face informed Mike, without my permission, that I had, in fact, spoken to Edward Cullen on more than one occasion. Mike was doubled over and shaking with gales of laughter.

I was completely frozen.

I was completely shocked.

The elevator. The park. _The dreams _. . .

Holy fucking fuck.

The music. His music. _My_ music.

I was yanked out of my trance by an impatient 200-pound dog which had given up waiting for me. Mike now looked concerned; I must have been immobile for too long.

Without uttering a word I allowed Jake to drag me to the elevator, and I pushed the button. My mind was whirring so dizzily, I couldn't register any somatic shifts or pretensions. The doors opened, and in I stepped. I pushed the correct button, and my eyes slipped out of focus again.

Once we were inside the apartment, I lowered myself deliberately onto the couch. I stared at the opposite wall until Jake came up and nudged first my knee, then my arm and finally my ribs with his nose. I yelped loudly and laughed as he tickled my ribs. The laugh continued long after his nudge, and it was joyous and relieved and celebratory.

The stupor cleared, and I felt even more buoyant than I had earlier. Euphoric.

I _wasn't _crazy for dreaming about him and my music. My subconscious knew him before I did. I had to think it was a sign. Everything seemed to be laid out simply before me, and all I had to do was follow the signs. Giant neon flashing signs. The kind you could follow on crutches with only one good eye after drinking a bottle of cheap whiskey, like the signs in Vegas.

I rushed through the end of my routine with Jake and made my way quickly out of the building.

I was too overwhelmed to go sit calmly in his hallway, knowing he was just on the other side of a two-inch thick slab of wood. My thoughts were completely erratic, and I wasn't sure if I could stop myself from knocking on his door. I wasn't sure if I wanted to stop myself, but I was entirely too dumbfounded to decide.

I rushed back to my apartment to change for my shift at the restaurant and prayed Alice wasn't home. She would know immediately something was up; on a good day, I could barely conceal a complete train of thought. Right now, she'd be able to see the home movie of my future happy life with Edward currently playing on a loop in my head as if it were projected on a fifty-foot screen.

Knowing how determined she could be when she wanted information, Alice would keep me in the apartment until I explained. She would use force if necessary. Looking at us, most people would instantly assume I could take Alice, but she was freakishly strong for her size; probably because of all the yoga and tai chi classes. Besides, I secretly found her frightening when she wore her no nonsense face. I'm a pacifist. I'd never been in a physical altercation in my life.

My key slid into the lock silently, and I turned it at half speed, attempting stealth. I crept into the hall and through the living room listening for signs of life. Realizing not even Alice could be this quiet, I let out a deep sigh.

My cheeks were starting to ache because of the smile stretched across my face with no threat of falling. Everywhere I looked in my room became a new stage for the scenes in my head; Edward was everywhere. He was carefree and smiling and happy to see me.

I changed quickly, washed my face and brushed my hair. Hoping to fill my head with something else, I decided to go into work early. Rose would gripe about me completely disregarding the schedule she so painstakingly toiled over, but Emmett would be happy to have the extra hands.

I made it to The Garlic Clove quickly, and hurried towards the back after walking inside.

"Seriously Bella, how hard is it to just come in _when_ I write it on the schedule?" Rose looked at me with exasperation. We had this conversation too many times.

"Do I have to answer, or is the question rhetorical at this point?" I smiled at her because a smile is all my face would produce anyway.

She sucked her teeth and huffed in semi-mock outrage.

"Bella, I don't care if you come and go as you please if you work when I need you," totally not true. She's a control freak. She cared."You're just giving the other employees the impression that _my_ schedule is flexible." Possibly true, however, they all knew I was her sister and had a heavy hand in helping them organize the restaurant.

"Yeah, yeah. Sorry and all that. I just had a weird day and wanted to get out of the apartment," I tried to appease her.

"Well, since you're here..." Now that she had scolded me, she was gonna give me a laundry list of things to do with my extra hour. Typical. I shifted my smile into a smirk and raised an eyebrow at her.

"Okay, we were really busy today, and I'm glad you're here early. I need the help," She finally conceded.

"Well, _since_ you asked nicely . . ." I grinned at her as she rolled her eyes at me and playfully smacked my shoulder.

Most of the things Rosalie needed me to do were straightforward. Restocking the bar from the walk in cooler and some kitchen prep work, which had fallen behind. I was free to let my mind wander, but all it did was grab a bucket of popcorn and watch Bella and Edward's imaginary life.

At some stage, in the middle of my chores, I started to really think about my last interaction with Edward. A mental Mack truck slammed into my happy little home video as I remembered the sadness in his expression. In my deranged urgency to accept Edward as my karmically befitting gift from the universe, I'd forgotten about one thing.

I'd forgotten about what Edward wanted.

I'd never felt as confused as I did when I realized _he_ might not want _me_. Usually, while I was in the process of making a decision I never felt torn; I just looked at my options and chose. Once I made my choice or arrived at a conclusion, I was done, settled. I typically felt good about my conclusions and didn't second-guess myself.

My mind began rapidly vacillating between The Cullens' Home Movies from an alternate reality and Edward's visible disappointment. After a couple of hours of pure mental distraction, I understood why my mind didn't normally operate this way; it was for my own physical safety.

I had spent my shift either standing frozen, after stopping haphazardly mid-stride, or colliding with everything in the room. I wasn't exactly walking straight into things. It was more ricocheting, like a pinball, off everything I came close to.

Emmett was alternating between hysterical laughter and distressed glances at me. I wasn't sure if he was more worried about my wellbeing or what I might do to the patrons.

I was deep in thought in the middle of the restaurant, so I couldn't tell Rose wanted my attention until she was only a few inches from my face. She looked down at my mouth and, I could tell she was irritated.

"Bella! I thought I broke you of that habit when we were in High School," she pointed at my bottom lip, "Stop. I mean it. Stop gnawing on your lip. You've got to be close to drawing blood."

"Don't exaggerate, Rose. I haven't been doing it that much," my embarrassment at being scolded for my strange subconscious affectation flooded my face. She rolled her eyes at me while pursing her lips; clearly, she disagreed with me.

"What? Are you talking about how Bella's been trying to eat her own lip for a couple of hours now?" Emmett boomed as he moved behind us unexpectedly, chuckling. I was so embarrassed by his observation, my whole face heated up.

Rose studied my face and squinted at me perceptively. Her fingers wrapped tightly around my upper arm, and she barreled gracefully down the hallway towards the office. She didn't seem bothered as I barely stayed on my feet, stumbling behind her.

"Ow, Rose, what the fuck?" I hissed at her in a low volume customers wouldn't hear. Continuing towards the office, she didn't respond, but her fingers loosened minutely, relieving the pain in my arm. Once we were in the office, she released me and closed the door, securely locking it. She faced the door for another moment and took a deep breath. No doubt, mentally prepping herself for the conversation she was about to start.

Rosalie fluidly turned to face me and stopped sharply, her eyes already locked on mine.

She looked like she was having a hard time deciding what to ask me, and I almost laughed. Almost. Rose never looked undecided or confused. She didn't hedge her thoughts, and starting a conversation was never her problem. Subtlety and volume were usually the things she had trouble with, so I was slightly amused to see her unsure of what she wanted to say. Finally, she gave me a slight headshake and huffed.

"What . . . what the hell is wrong with you?" She finally got out.

"What do you mean?" I asked curiously. I _wasn't_ completely sure what she meant, and I wasn't about to start rattling on about something if it wasn't even what she took issue with.

"Frankly, Bella, you're confusing the fuck out of me," She looked, well, completely flustered, and if I hadn't been slightly worried, I would've been extremely amused. Rose didn't do flustered.

"I'm . . . sorry?" I wasn't sure what to say to her, "I guess I'm having a clumsy day." I went for my most obvious symptom which was, coincidently, the least complicated to discuss. She gave me a suspecting smirk and arched her eyebrow.

"You bouncing around the room as if you were stumbling through an earthquake has absolutely nothing to do with _this_," She waved her hand frantically in front of me gesturing up and down my body, "I have never seen you fluctuate back and forth between utterly disgusting blissfulness and looking like your dog died. You are, and always have been, either happy _or_ sad or whatever. Usually happy. You are very easy to read because your feelings are simple and whole when you have them. Right now, you're really freaking me the fuck out," She shuddered, and I realized how much more Rosalie saw than she let on.

She was completely accurate. I didn't struggle with opposing feelings, and I never wavered within a whirlwind of confusing emotions. I felt one thing and it consumed me until another emotion was triggered. I _was_ happy most of the time. I took a moment to decide what I wanted to tell Rose and how I would do it.

"Stop biting your lip, Bella," she said with an agitated sigh.

"Rose, I . . ." I started and couldn't finish. I took a deep breath, "I really like this guy, and I'm not sure how he feels about me," The words tumbled out. I tried to be as vague as possible because I was not ready to explain how crazy I was to anyone. I watched her face shift as I waited for her response.

"Really, Bella? _Really? _How old are you, like twelve?" She laughed at me, "I'm glad you like a boy, but what do you mean you're not sure how he feels about you? How many times do I have to tell you you're an awesome person and totally fucking hot? Just own it, and_ tell_ him what he wants. I can't believe you had me this worried, so I'm going back to work," she looked totally relieved. She turned around and walked out the door.

This was typical Rose. Part of me was glad I didn't have to explain further, glad Rose didn't push for information. It was definitely the larger part, but I couldn't help the minor disappointment I felt too. A very small part of me desperately wanted to spill my guts about Edward, and I was sure I couldn't unless someone coerced it from me.

When I finally walked into my apartment later that night, Alice was sitting on the couch. As usual, she was watching TV while reading a magazine, using her laptop and eating something. She was the master multi-tasker, and her ability to process several things at once was astounding.

She looked up at me with a disinterested glance, the kind you offer to something expected, but as soon as her eyes had dropped back to the screen, they jumped back up to me with a knitted brow.

" Hey Bella, you okay?" She asked curiously. I could tell she was really concerned, and I was reminded why I loved Alice. She always thought of others as more important than herself.

"I'm fine, A. I'm just really tired," I _was_ really tired, but that definitely wasn't my problem. I still didn't feel ready to explain the whole situation between me and Edward, and unlike Rose, Alice would not let it go if I gave too much away. Rose wanted answers because I made her uncomfortable; once she had a suitable explanation, she didn't care about the rest. Alice cared, maybe too much, and would drag it out of me if it meant we were up for the next three days fighting about it.

Alice was silent for a few moments while she studied my face. Finally, her face softened and she nodded her head slowly.

"Okay," She said resignedly and her eyes moved back to the TV. She was exceedingly gifted when determining whether I would cooperate with her inquiries, and I was grateful that she let the subject rest for the moment.

"How do you feel now that your thesis is done and turned in?" I asked her with genuine interest as I sat down on the other end of the couch; Her stress level had been at an all time high for two weeks.

"Great!" Her whole face lit up, and I could tell she was very relieved, "Once I turned it over the stress just left my body. I guess I was just worrying about things I could do to make it better, and when it was out of my hands, all of the anxiety disappeared. I actually feel really confident about how it turned out."

"I_ told _you it was great. I mean, I don't know a lot about the technical aspects of developing an innovative therapy routine for troubled youth, beside what I learned from your paper, but I thought your ideas were brilliant," I hoped Alice truly believed me. I loved her for her intelligence and her benevolent nature before I read her thesis, but after reading it, I was in awe. Her brain worked differently from anyone else I knew, and the ideas she wanted to put into action would help a lot of people.

"Thanks, Bella," She smiled at me, glowing at the praise.

"I meant it," I said simply, "Well, I think I'm gonna head to bed."

"You know you can talk to me about anything, right?" Her face was serious as she waited for me to respond. I ducked my head and looked at the floor. I normally told Alice everything, and some guilt was creeping into my already swirling vat of emotional disarray.

"I know. I promise I'm okay," I mumbled unconvincingly, "Goodnight, I'll see you in the morning."

"Night," she spoke with quiet disappointment.

I moved mechanically towards my bedroom, and closed the door behind me. Slumping onto my bed, I dropped my bag at my feet. I sat on the edge of my bed and considered my situation for a while. I still couldn't decide whether I was ecstatic or disappointed; not knowing what Edward wanted was really confusing me.

A loud gust of air whooshed out of my lungs as I flopped my back down to the comforter behind me. I tried to sort out my thoughts while I stared at my ceiling fan. Ultimately, I came to the conclusion that I needed to figure out what Edward wanted before I could resolve my predicament.

Not bothering to stand up, I undid the button and zipper of my jeans and slid them down to my knees. I kicked them the rest of the way off into a heap on the floor. I scrambled further up the bed and sat to slide under the covers. I pulled my shirt over my head and unhooked my bra to toss them onto the floor too. I reached over to turn off the lamp on my side table, and closed my eyes.

I couldn't keep the image of the beautiful man out of my head. It had been hard enough to banish his image while I was distracted and busy, but now I was in silent darkness, it was impossible. I didn't want him to disappear, and I found myself wishing for dreams of him.

I realized I still wasn't sure how Edward felt about me, but I _was_ sure how I felt about Edward. I knew I wanted him, in my dreams, in my bed, in my life, in my future, in every way possible.

. . . _I stood behind Edward watching him. He was seated at his piano wearing nothing but dark jeans. The muscles across his shoulders and down his arms tensed and pulsed as he played. I stepped closer to his back, and from over his shoulder, I watched his fingers coax the keys. A wanton hum escaped my throat unbidden, and the music stopped abruptly. _

_He pushed his torso back curiously, and his head came to rest against my chest. I draped my arms over his shoulders, palming the bare skin over his abs and pecs. I whimpered as he languidly rubbed his head from side to side, caressing my breasts with the sides of his face._

_I felt forceful fingers wrap around my calves, using their leverage to pull me flush against his hard back. I tilted my head down to nuzzle his hair as my fingers found his nipples and pinched them playfully. The heady scent of Edward was overwhelming, and I purred as I dragged my fingernails down his chest and past his navel to toy with the material at the waist of his jeans._

_A loud groan left his mouth as he turned quickly and pulled me over the bench. My feet touched the ground between Edward's legs, and he wasted no time pressing his face into my breasts. His fingers crawled under my shirt hem and up my sides taking the cloth with them. The tank top was tossed onto the floor as Edward's face lit up at the sight of my braless chest. _

_He sucked my nipple into his smiling mouth, eliciting a gasp from me. His firm hands kneaded the muscles of my back pressing me further into his mouth before sliding down to grip my ass. I whimpered my arousal as he pulled my body more tightly against his. My fingers twisted into his hair and tugged his head back. I smothered his mouth with my hungry lips, stealing his breath. _

_His moan sent vibrations into my lips and tongue causing me to frantically climb onto his lap. I straddled his legs, grinding into his rock hard erection restrained in his jeans; I gasped into him as he let out a quiet growl. We continued kissing, and our lips parted rhythmically around my panting. His growls grew louder, and I could feel his chest rumbling against my naked breasts. He used one hand against my ass to thrust his throbbing cock against my center while the other hand squeezed my breast, pinching my erect nipple._

_I felt a warm flush spread across my skin, burning with pleasure under the surface. Edward's music, my music, flooded the space around me; I gasped again as the burning started to consume me . . ._

The heat woke me up. Before I could open my eyes, I felt the dampness of perspiration all over my skin. I also noticed that my hands were located in interesting places on my body. My left hand was pressed between my legs over my panties, and I could feel warm moisture there. The fingers on my right hand were squeezing my taut nipple, and I felt the tightness of arousal in my abdomen.

I breathed a deep sigh and opened my eyes to stare at the ceiling. My dreams were only becoming more vivid and realistic. Unfortunately, my need for physical satisfaction from Edward was increasing, and no amount of hallucinatory self-stimulation or dreamed orgasms was decreasing the desire for his body against mine.

I took a long, hot shower, secretly hoping Alice would've left for the day by the time I was done. I felt horrible for wanting to avoid her, but I just wasn't ready to tell her anything yet.

As I walked back through the apartment, I could tell she had left, and I was hugely relieved. I spent the rest of the morning staring at the TV and avoiding the beatific visions in the back of my mind.

After noon, I got my stuff together and locked the door before heading off to Rose and Emmett's house. I made a quick stop to get a sandwich for me and a cookie for Charlie. I was hoping watching him for the evening would put my brain back into perspective. As happy as I felt when I thought about Edward, I was starting to wonder if I was crazy for feeling so strongly about someone I'd had two conversations with.

I definitely wasn't a prude, and I'd felt quick connections with people I'd just met before. They were nothing compared to this though, and I was slightly apprehensive because of the intensity.

I let myself into their front door, and snuck down the hall. I could hear Emmett playing loudly with Charlie in his room, but I peaked into the bedroom first. I wanted to say hi to Rose, so she wouldn't think I was an intruder. I walked to the master bathroom and tapped lightly on the doorframe. Rose looked up at my face reflecting in the mirror.

"Hey, sis," I studied her admiringly through the glass. She was so stunning. She smiled at me, and went back to applying the lipstick she held in her hand.

"Hey hon, how are you?" She asked after her lips were tinted a warm pink.

"Good," I responded generically.

"Well, have you seen the baby yet? Oh, and I'm sure Charlie wants to see you too," I chuckled at the mention of Emmett being the true toddler in the house and shook my head 'no'. I pressed my finger to my lips, warning Rose not to give me away, and crept animatedly towards the hall.

I stopped just before the door to Charlie's room to listen in on their conversation. They were much quieter than when I entered the house and seemed to be concentrating on some sort of puzzle game. I poised myself for attack and sprang into the room with a loud yell.

"AAAAARRRGH!!" Emmett was scared half to death, screaming at the top of his lungs.

At the same time Emmett started screaming like a little girl, Charlie had looked up completely unruffled, recognized me and crowed "Bewuh" happily. He was halfway across the room, launching towards my legs, when he realized his father was slightly over reacting. He rolled onto the floor in a fit of giggles.

I hefted Charlie over my shoulder and carried him into the master bedroom. We sat on the bed and watched Rose dance around the room as she got ready. She stopped and looked at me with a pouty face.

"We're about to head out to the restaurant," she whispered with disappointment. She hated leaving Charlie behind.

"Okay, don't stress yourself out too much. We'll be fine here guarding the house," I looked at the little boy next to me seriously, "Are you up to the task, sir?"

He grinned at me hugely and violently shook his head 'yes', probably not even sure to what he agreed. He was only two and a half.

"Well, the brave men that guard the house tonight will be rewarded with chocolate chip cookies!" I boomed goofily.

"I'm staying home tonight, hon," we heard Emmett call from the other room, and I laughed at his silliness.

Charlie and I spent the rest of the afternoon watching his favorite Disney movies and drawing colorful pictures. He was extremely well behaved, but then, he usually was for me. Close to his bedtime, he fell asleep while we were watching one of the movies, and I carefully carried him into his room.

Having Charlie to play with had been a perfect distraction; a two year old demanded your full attention. Now he was sleeping, I was left with next to nothing to occupy my brain, and the first thing my mind jumped to was Edward.

His amazing face, soft lips and rich green eyes bored into my brain. I watched the end of _Beauty and the Beast_, and daydreamed of animated crockery helping me win Edward's heart. My life would be so much easier with talking housewares.

Sighing, I left the couch and headed to Charlie's room to check on him. A gentle smile lifted my cheeks as I watched his tiny chest inflate and collapse in a steady rhythm. His eyelashes were resting against his lower lids, and his dark little eyebrows were pulled together, tensed as he dreamed. The rosy color over the apples of his cheeks reminded me of myself.

Before I could help it, I was imagining what my own child would look like. Maybe he would have my dark hair and Edward's green eyes. _Oh God._ Edward's eyes. _Our_ child.

I shook my head and walked to the kitchen. Rifling through the fridge, I hunted for something to snack on. Maybe I could eat myself into distraction. I settled on some finger food, so it would take me longer to eat.

I washed some red grapes, sliced some sharp white cheddar and apples and grabbed the box of Triscuits out of the cabinet. I poured myself a glass of the Sauvignon Blanc already open in the fridge and tucked the bottle under my arm to take it with me into the living room.

I spent two hours picking at my snacks and finishing the bottle of wine. Then, I lay down on the couch, pulling the blanket draped over the back onto my legs. The wine had slowed my thoughts down, so they were no longer racing. I still couldn't get his face out of my head, but it was easy for me to drift off to sleep.

Shaking. My consciousness returned with jostling. Shaking and jostling. I peeled my eyes open to figure out how I was possibly in the middle of an earthquake. As soon as my eyes focused, I realized I was almost nose-to-nose with my sister, and I instinctively flinched back into the couch.

"So, who's Edward?" Her eyebrows raised at me curiously. For one moment I was confused, and then clarity dawned on me. I felt heat flood my face and my hands flew up to cover my embarrassment. Strong soft hands wrapped around my wrists and pulled my hands away from my face. Rose didn't release my arms as she leveled me with an expectant look.

"Oh God, what else did I . . ._say_?" I wasn't exactly worried about noises in the form of words, and Rose knew it.

"Don't worry. You didn't make any _other_ sounds," she smirked back at me, "Edward?"

"He's the guy I mentioned yesterday," I stammered at her.

"You must be stupid over this guy. When we were younger you would chatter on and on in your sleep about anything and everything, but you never once mentioned a guy's name; not even the ones you dated."

I rolled my eyes at Rose, but I knew she was right. I was stupid over Edward. I couldn't even decide how to pursue him or if I should.

No, I was pretty solid on that point. I definitely should.

"What time is it?" I asked her after I noticed daylight peeking through the curtains.

"Around nine," she shrugged as she stood and walked out of the room.

Stretching, I sat up slowly. I tried to lick my lips, but my mouth was more desert-like than swamp-like. I shuffled into the kitchen and poured some cold water into a glass. After half the glass, I felt better, and I pinched a fresh croissant from the paper bag on the counter before heading back to the couch.

"You want some tea, baby girl?" Emmett peeked his head around the kitchen door.

"Sure, with milk please!" I smiled back.

After drinking my tea while swapping different sections of the paper with Em, I changed my clothes and headed to my apartment.

Alice was sitting on the couch when I swung the door open. I dropped my bags and ambled to the couch, plopping down next to her with a loud huff. I threw my arm over her shoulders and squeezed, letting my head fall to rest on hers.

My best friend turned her face towards me and pecked my cheek enthusiastically.

"Hey," she mumbled after tilting her head to stabilize mine. We both stared at the TV thoughtfully.

"Alice?" I whispered.

"Yeah?" There was hope in her voice.

"I'm sorry I've been avoiding talking to you," I apologized quietly.

I felt her little shoulders shrug under my arm, "I figured you'd talk to me when you were ready. I knew you weren't mad at me," she assured me.

I sat quietly for another moment.

"Bella, are you ever gonna tell me what's going on?" She wheedled, "I'm dying of curiosity!"

I laughed at her because I knew what kind of restraint it had taken for her to leave me be. Alice was nosy; she pried. I took a deep, noisy breath.

"Okay, there's this guy . . ." I started. I told Alice all about Edward, only leaving out my hallway concerts, and she listened carefully. I repeated the conversations we'd had to her verbatim. I described how amazingly beautiful he was. I finished with his seeming discomfort at the end of our last meeting.

"So, let me get this straight. Edward is not only familiar with your favorite band and knows their obscure songs," I opened my mouth to say something, but she silenced me with a pointer finger in front of my face, "He identified your favorite poem by title, he bought you coffee and a cookie, he asked to walk you back to the building, he said you were a good person, oh, and apparently he's dee-fucking-licious. So, what's with the confusion, kid? When are y'all getting married?"

I stared at her in disbelief. _Had she heard anything I'd said?_

"Alice, didn't you hear what I said about Friday afternoon?" I asked in a tiny voice.

"I don't think that matters. You like him, and apparently, he's just as strange as you are. I think you need to get over the nerves, and actually introduce yourself to him, properly," She looked at me reassuringly, "I think, if you give yourself the chance to get to know him better, your insecurity will dissolve. There is absolutely no way he isn't interested in you; you're, like, the most awesome person I know. Just know it. Be it," she finished with a smile and a shove to my shoulder.

"I didn't know I was the only person you knew," I teased with mock pity. She gave me a serious, no nonsense look, "Okay, okay, I know. Rose told me, basically, the same thing," I shrugged.

"What!?" My body instinctively jumped away from my explosive roommate, "You told Rosalie before you told me!?"

She looked livid. Livid and shocked and . . . hurt.

"Alice," I placed a comforting hand on her shoulder, "Rose forced me into the back room because I was acting like a crazy person at the restaurant. All I told her was that I liked a guy; she didn't care about the rest," I assured her.

My manipulative best friend pouted silently. I went for the string she always responded to.

"I spend time with you because I want to. I have to spend time with Rose; we're related," I loved my sister, but this always made Alice feel better.

"Okay, but _I_ get to plan the wedding, bitch," she conceded jokingly. At least, I hoped she was joking.

"Sure, Alice, whatever you want," as if I would ever get married.

"So, you're gonna talk to him?" She bounced happily on the couch.

"I guess I don't have a choice. I'm honestly not sure I could avoid him if I tried," I murmured, full of embarrassment.

She laughed at me heartily and pushed off the couch to get ready for her shift at the restaurant.

After Alice left, I scrubbed the bathroom, cleaned the kitchen, mopped, vacuumed the whole apartment, dusted the shelves and reorganized my closet, anything to keep me focused on something other than Edward. When there was nothing left to clean, I changed clothes and left my apartment for a jog. I didn't normally exercise, aside from the occasional yoga class with Alice, but I'd heard it relaxed people.

My mind was still running a million miles a minute when I got back, but the ache in my muscles weighed my body down. I felt like I had lead on the end of each limb.

I went straight to the bathroom, peeling my sweaty clothes off and dropping them on the tile. I waited until the shower steamed before I stepped past the curtain. I sat in the tub, letting the hot water stream over my body. Before the water turned freezing, I quickly washed my hair, face and body.

I put on a comfy tank and some cotton shorts and flopped onto the couch. I flipped channels and watched junk TV as the sun set. Finally, I was struck by an epiphany. I _wanted_ Edward no matter what. Obviously, he might not want me, but I would do my best to make myself available until I knew for sure. The sureness of my sudden conviction settled my nerves instantly. I felt completely calm because I was sure of my choices. I leaned back and watched the romantic comedy that was already on TV.

Alice walked in a half an hour later with a to go box of food. She plopped down next to me and was immediately engrossed in the movie. Absentmindedly, she thrust the box in front of me without looking.

"What is it?" I was too lazy to look first.

"Your usual, mashed sweet potatoes, baby greens salad with goat cheese and a piece of muscadine pie. Weirdo," she accused after listing the random assortment of items.

"Thanks!" I jumped up to grab a fork from the kitchen. I ate the food happily, and we watched the rest of the movie before saying goodnight to each other.

The sky outside my bedroom window was a rich bluish purple with feathery dark gray clouds. I settled into my bed and looked through the glass at the full moon. I hoped I would see Edward the next day; I was determined to officially introduce myself. I closed my eyes and saw him. He was so unbelievably pretty.

_Edward's fingers brushed lightly up my cheeks and buried in the hair above my temples._

"_Bella," he breathed against my mouth, "you're so beautiful."_

_I gasped lightly as his lips hovered close to mine. He pulled one hand through my hair to the back of my neck and pressed my head towards him. His hand slid slowly down my spine, and I felt his needy fingers push into my back. I reached up to hold his face with my hands, feeling his smooth, cool skin against mine._

_He gripped my lower back and pulled my body flush against his. I pushed my lips closer to his delectable mouth, waiting for him to respond. He closed the distance between us hungrily, and a shock of electricity passed into my lips. _

_Our mouths moved together passionately as I felt his tongue brush tentatively against my lips. I opened to him with a sigh and felt his tongue pushing into my mouth passionately._

_We continued to kiss, gasping for breath around each other's mouths. Edward's other fingers pulled from my hair, tickled over my cheek and dragged smoothly down my neck. He pushed his fingertips into the skin under my collarbone and rubbed circles down my chest. His hand ghosted over me before cupping my breast firmly._

_I moaned quietly into his mouth as he squeezed my breast and pinched my nipple between his fingers. I felt a warm tension building in my abdomen and a subtle throb between my legs._

The obnoxious sound of my blaring alarm startled me awake. As was becoming usual, I was panting heavily. I couldn't believe it; I'd only dreamed about kissing him.

I washed my face and dressed quickly before grabbing an apple from my fridge and heading out the door. I stopped by my favorite bookstore on my way to Edward's building. I mean Jake's building.

The store smelled pleasantly of musty paper and ink, and I walked around fingering the worn cloth spines of colorful books. Excitement was building in my chest, and all sense of uncertainty washed away.

I couldn't wait to see him; I hoped he would be in the elevator or the lobby. I wanted to seize what little time I might have and introduce myself. I would make sure he knew I wanted him, then he would have to make his feelings more clear.

Leaving the bookstore, I walked purposefully towards my date with a giant dog and an elevator and the literal man of my dreams. As I walked through the double glass doors into the lobby, I knew immediately he was not in the room. I threw one hand up in greeting towards Mike and continued to stride quickly towards the elevator.

I rode the elevator car up to the eighth floor alone in silence. I imagined seven million different possible conversations with Edward in this space, and then my imagination moved on to less vocal ways for us to communicate. My breath was heavy leaving my chest, and I was very thankful when the doors slid open with a chime. Being alone in the elevator was too tempting for my subconscious; I had begun to feel like I was in one of my dreams.

The key turned silently in the lock, and I walked into the apartment. Jake took a moment to wake up and realize someone was in the house. He recognized me immediately but barked anyway because he had been caught off guard. I shushed him sternly, and he perked up and trotted forward to assault me with a slobbery, wet tongue.

"Alright, alright. Back off," I shoved awkwardly at the monster dog who didn't budge an inch. I maneuvered my way, around him, towards the kitchen, and I grabbed a cold water from the fridge, slipping it into my bag. I bagged up a few of Jake's cookies and shoved them quickly in the bag too.

I nervously checked the time on the electronic display above the stove. I was anxious to see Edward, and all I wanted to do was rush to the elevator. Knowing that our meetings were all in the timing, I restrained the urge. I needed to time this as closely to my normal routine as possible.

After Jake and I played a bit and he was leashed and ready to go, we walked out into the hall. I locked the door and moved down the hall towards the elevator doors. Taking a deep breath, I let my fingers reach out and depress the button.

When the doors slid open, I stepped into the small, warm compartment. I hesitated over the buttons before pushing the 'L'. I wanted desperately to select '7', but if he wasn't waiting for the elevator already, there was no point to stopping on his floor.

I watched the heavy, metal doors slide closed automatically, and I crossed my fingers. Yes, actually, like a ten year old. Jake curled up close to the wall and began attentively snuffling at the carpet.

"Please let it stop. Please let it stop. Please let it stop . . ." I chanted repeatedly under my breath. When the lift slowed almost as soon as it had started, I almost jumped up and down. Okay, I did hop a little. The giant dog spared me a confused glance, and then returned to the apparently interesting carpet.

For the part of a moment in between the arrest of movement and the doors sliding open, I held my breath. _Please be him, please be him, please be him _my brain begged silently. The doors started to open, and they were too fucking slow! I'd never noticed how decrepit they were; I'd have to tell Mike they needed to be checked.

The held air softly released from my lungs as his face appeared between the parted doors. His beautiful face. Alice's word choice had been perfect; he was dee-fucking-licious.

He stared at my face for a few moments, and then, he looked away and stepped into the box. Hell no. No looking away.

"Good morning!" I looked at him openly and closed some distance between us, releasing Jake's leash. He looked slightly surprised but recovered quickly.

"Hi, how are you today?" His eyes were full of warmth as he smiled lightly at me.

"Good." I was gonna just jump right in, "You know, I noticed that we haven't even properly introduced ourselves. I'm Bella Swan," I held my hand out to him hoping to all that is holy I would get to touch him. He looked down at my hand and slowly took it with his.

"Nice to meet you Bella. My name is Edward Cullen," I felt my hand move imperceptibly, and we stood, joined, for longer than normal. I felt more like we were holding hands, but in a handshake formation. His fingers wrapped around most of my hand; his skin felt warm and seemed to vibrate with electrical energy.

"I'm very happy to meet you, Edward," I almost purred at him. Where the hell did that come from? His slight smile grew larger. _Oh, so you like the purring?_

"Edward, I'm glad we met; I really like you," I tried to keep it light and friendly, but I meant so much more.

"I like you too, Bella," he said it with a huge grin, but it felt friendly. I couldn't tell if he meant he wanted to talk to me or ravish me. This was no good.

Pushing myself closer to him and holding his hand hostage, I looked sincerely up into his eyes.

"No, Edward, I really _like_ you," I definitely purred, and what the hell happened to light and friendly?

His smile dropped as his mouth fell open, and I felt his warm breath against my skin in faster pants. I studied the depths of his beautiful eyes, his pupils dilating as I watched. My attention was quickly drawn to the source of the balmy breath against my face. His mouth. His parted lips. Why had I allowed myself to daydream so much? I was completely fucked.

Before he could even respond, I had closed the six-inch gap left between our faces. I pressed my slightly open mouth barely to his, and he moaned very faintly. I tentatively pushed my tongue out to touch his lip. I didn't force it into his mouth; I just wanted to taste him. He tasted fresh and minty and warm and delectable.

As soon as my tongue made contact with his lip, I felt a whirl of movement. Strong, warm hands gripped my upper arms tightly, and I was lifted and spun into the wall next to me. I heard an unsure rumble coming from Jake, and I hoped he would return focus to the carpet. Edward didn't break the connection of our mouths, and when my back hit the wall, he deepened the kiss ravenously. I moaned loudly into him as his tongue searched my willing mouth.

He kissed me completely stupid, and the sounds he let loose around me were ferocious and animalistic and made me so fucking wet. Even though he still had my arms pinned against the wall, I could bend my elbows and reach his sides. I began dragging my fingers roughly over his ribs, up until I couldn't stretch any further, and down, passing them over his belt to grip his hips before I continued back up. He growled into my mouth, he fucking _growled_, and pressed his body against mine. I vaguely heard a soft woof in response to the growling, and the corners of my mouth lifted.

I whimpered as I felt his stiff erection press against my lower abdomen. I pushed my body into him, hoping he would enjoy the feeling of our bodies pressed together as much as I did. He bucked forcefully against me in response. So, he definitely liked it. I thrust my face towards his, assaulting his mouth, as I gripped the sides of his shirt.

I was about to wrap my legs around his waist when the elevator chimed, indicating the doors had opened. Within a fraction of a second, he was on the other side of the elevator, stooping unnecessarily to grab Jake's leash; the dog was still lounging on the floor. He held the door open with his hand as we both stood motionless. The abrupt disconnect from the sexiest thing I had ever experienced had me shocked. I waited for him to smile at me or ask if he could walk with me or if I wanted coffee.

None of it happened. He looked up at me with obvious shame, his face a tortured mask of pain. I half stepped towards him extending my hand as he flinched away from me. He fucking flinched away from me.

"I'm so sorry, Bella. I shouldn't have done that; it was horribly inappropriate. I can't believe I took advantage of you like that . . . I'm sorry," he implored throwing the leash towards me and bolted from the elevator. I watched him dart behind the door to the stairwell and out of sight. Thankfully, I'd caught the leash because, in a second, Jake was off the ground and yanking me after Edward.

What the hell just happened? _Took advantage?_ Did he not notice me kissing him first? Well, it seemed as if he felt the same way I did, in the beginning. That was the singularly best sexual event that had ever taken place in my life. Better than all of the sex; better than all of my dreams. Then, he just panicked and ran off. That was the strangest reaction a man had ever had to me. Especially after a please-fuck-me-hard-against-the-wall kiss.

I stood lost in thought holding the elevator door open until Jake finally dragged me out of the little steel box.

Now I wanted Edward more than I could've imagined, but I was further from understanding whether he wanted me than I was this morning. I needed to sort this shit out quickly; confusion didn't suit me.

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**a/n: push the button right down there, and tell me what you think. I want your yays, nays and mehs. I'm nosy; I want 'em all.**


	4. Misery, Muscadines & a Peace Offering

**a/n: Okay, I know I'm all kinds of epic FAIL for not updating sooner, but it's nice and long for you lovely people. This was a very hard chapter to write. **

**My beta Viola Cornuta is all kinds of epic WIN, and I'm a self-conscious mental patient without her. With her I'm a normal/bordering on confident mental patient.**

**The poem referenced, again, is _American Rhapsody (4)_ by Kenneth Fearing.**

**Disclaimer: I own some fabulous recipes, you'll see, but not these characters. As usual I'm willing to trade. Stephenie? Stephenie?  
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**EPOV**

I watched the scalding water flow out of the faucet onto my skin. It washed away the sticky physical evidence of my shame, my guilt, my disgust, and in its place it left angry pink welts. My eyes swam with tears as I watched the skin inflame. For a moment, the scorching heat graciously took the place of my swirling stomach, but it didn't last long. I turned the faucet off. I dried my hands, and reached down to tuck myself back into my pants. Wincing with unexpected pain, I realized I had rubbed myself raw. Good. I deserved the injury. It would serve as an insufficient reminder of just how horribly disturbed I really was.

_Why couldn't I just let her kiss me?_

I inadvertently caught my eye in the mirror, and couldn't look away. My mirror image became blurry as I pushed my tongue out over my parched lips. I could taste her on me still. She tasted just like she smelled, fresh and clean, sweet and pure. My mind and heart started racing.

I had attacked her. She tried to kiss me, and I pinned her to a wall and shoved my tongue in her mouth and pushed my dick into her stomach and . . . and I attacked her. Thankfully the elevator doors had opened, to summon me out of my frenzy. Otherwise, I don't know what I would have done to her, or what would have stopped me. I had escaped, but I couldn't escape myself. Her taste flooded my head with all of the same feelings I had as I shoved her into the wall. My stomach clenched uncomfortably.

I'd been frenetic with the need to have her, devour her. I wanted to consume her, absorb her, take everything she had, bleed it from her, leave her hollow, empty; leave her nothing. I'd pumped myself savagely; I'd come violently to thoughts of stealing all of her.

I felt a horrible swell in my abdomen, which pushed up through my chest. My lungs constricted, my heart thumped. There was no space left inside my ribs; my stomach felt as if it were vacating my body. I spun quickly to kneel at my toilet.

My disgust, my shame, my deviance, they all disgorged from me in a brutal heave. Immediately, I felt pleasantly empty. Could it be this simple; had the feelings purged along with my breakfast?

Before I wanted it, I had the answer. My stomach was a vacant, grumbling pit, but again my mind was pregnant with agonizing thoughts, images, desires.

I walked out to my piano and sat down. My fingers came down to rest on the keys. Nothingness eddied through my head, already surfeit with self-loathing. I couldn't bring myself to depress the keys. Not even to discover the discordant sound echoing just beyond my ears. I slowly fell forward as my forehead thudded against the glossy black veneer.

I'd never felt so lost in my life. I couldn't even bring myself to play a piece I knew. I couldn't plunk a single key.

I stayed frozen against the cold lacquer forever. Or for minutes. I couldn't be sure. A dolorous sigh abandoned my lungs, leaving a breath-hitching ache behind. A glacial chill sent violent shivers through my body. My muscles tensed and cramped. I didn't know what I was going to do to fix this.

I didn't believe I could stop seeing her without permanent mental derangement.

I didn't believe I could _keep_ seeing her without permanent mental derangement.

I moped around aimlessly, miserably. I wracked my brain, dug my fingers into my thighs. I remembered her pressed against me, her delicious breath, supple lips, plush skin. I pulled my hair in frustration. Distraction, I needed distraction. Nothing in my apartment had any chance of holding my attention while corporeal memories of Bella careened through my head.

In an act of desperation, I did something very unlike me. I picked up my phone and called Jasper.

"Hello?" His usually relaxed voice sounded suspicious and concerned.

"Jasper, hey," I spoke with relief into the phone.

"Edward? Are you okay? You never call me." True, but his severe disbelief rankled a bit. "Usually I have to force you just to talk to me."

"I'm really _not_ okay. I, I . . ." I began but had no idea how to continue.

"Alright." He said seriously and quietly paused for a moment. "Alright, I'm coming over. I'll be there in ten."

"No, wait, Jas, you don't need to come over. Please don't come over," I begged him. I couldn't fathom him seeing me this way. He would know I'd lost my mind.

"See ya in a few, Edward." He ignored me and hung up. I groaned peevishly. This was why I didn't call people. My brain was so damaged; I was making some hideously bad decisions.

As promised, Jasper knocked on my door a few minutes later. I didn't move from my seat at the piano. He knocked again. I sat. My phone started to ring. I ignored it. He pounded. I cringed. Then I heard the door unlock, and Jasper walked into my living room. I gave him an incredulous look.

"What?" He shrugged innocently. "I _have_ a key."

"I seem to remember giving it to you for when I'm _not_ here." I scowled at him. "I _seem_ to remember telling you _not_ to use it when I'm home," I seethed.

"Edward, you _called_ me. You said it yourself; you are not okay." Typical Jasper. In his mind it was a completely valid explanation.

"I know," I muttered.

"What's goin' on, man? You look like shit." Even though he intruded and insulted, I couldn't ignore the authentic concern in his eyes.

I let out an elongated breath. I didn't know what to tell him.

"There's this girl, woman . . . Bella . . ." I told him about how beautiful she was, how I'd wanted to talk to her for months, how she had kissed me, how I panicked. I glossed over the details about seeking her out, masturbating to images of her constantly, attacking her when she kissed me. Jasper wasn't dense; he was too perceptive for my own good, and he knew me better than anyone.

He watched me carefully. I could tell that he picked up so much more than I told him. When I was done, he pursed his lips together pensively. Wheels turned, and I knew he was trying to decide which direction he wanted to take this conversation, how much he wanted to draw out of me. I held my breath. Jasper saw too much; I'd be lucky if he didn't try to commit me.

"You look really pale, Edward. Have you eaten anything today?" _Yeah, breakfast, oh, and then I retched it back up after attacking Bella in the elevator and rubbing my dick raw to the memories of her touch and her sounds and, oh God . . ._

"No." It was the simpler answer.

"Okay. First things first. I need to get you fed and then distract you from yourself." His look said 'I know that's why you called me. Desperation.' Then a bright smile cracked his face, "Remember that little place I told you I wanted to try the other day?"

I nodded mutely. I remembered, but I hadn't heard anything about the restaurant I might recall now. Unfortunately, I clearly recalled agreeing to go there whenever he wanted.

"Perfect. You need sustenance, and, from what I hear, the place is good enough to preoccupy you." He seemed very pleased with his solution. I wanted to grumble about having to go somewhere, but I appreciated him letting my crazy lie sleeping. If we didn't find him a diversion too, he'd start asking questions I wouldn't want to answer. His response to my revelations could easily be a three-day involuntary psychiatric hold, with paper slippers and an IV pole.

"Okay, I'm going to change my clothes really quick," I yielded and walked towards my bedroom.

From behind me I heard a soft chuckle and a breathed, "Damn, Edward, you never give in that easily. You _must_ be fucked."

Pulling my shirt off, I ignored him and looked for something comfortable to wear. "How nice is this place?" I called out to Jas as I stared at my closet.

"Casual. I think jeans and T-shirts are cool. You never look like a complete hobo."

"Thanks," I sneered. I pulled a nice dark gray T-shirt on and layered a black button down over it. I left the buttons open and cuffed the sleeves up my forearm. The dark jeans I had on were decent looking so I decided not to change them. I put on my Adidas, and trudged out to Jasper.

"I'm glad to see you lookin' so _excited_ to hang out with me. It's such a change from your normal mopey, antisocial self," he enthused falsely with a goofy, toothy grin.

I cracked a smile, "Yeah, yeah, asshole. Let's go."

Jasper stared at me in shock for at least a whole minute after I asked him to drive. I just wasn't in the mood, and I didn't know where we were going. We rode companionably in silence, listening to his iPod. I started to feel calmer, more centered, as we rode, and I was reluctantly relieved he forced me to go out with him. He was right; this was a good distraction. After about ten minutes in the car, Jasper looked over at me with a friendly smile.

"From what I've heard this is your kinda place. Casual atmosphere, great menu, and for me, a vast beer selection," I could tell he was trying to talk me into enjoying myself, so I smiled back.

"How'd you hear about it again?" I was curious how solid his recommendation was.

"Oh, well it's kinda odd. I met the owner at a cocktail party; Emmett's a funny guy. Usually I wouldn't put much stock in someone's recommendation of his own place, but for some reason, I knew he wasn't all hype. I never got to meet his wife, but they run it together." _Emmett._ Strange name. Not very common. Oh shit.

"Jas, What's this place called?" I asked, feeling my horror contort my face. He didn't need to answer. He'd just stopped his car, and he pointed up to the new sign. The Garlic Clove. I wanted to cry. Like a big giant baby. Throw a temper tantrum, scream, kick. Anything that would make him turn the car right around.

"I can't go in there," I whispered, staring at the sign as if it might attack me when I wasn't looking.

"What the hell are you talking about?" He was exasperated. _Yeah, dude I know. Try living with me all of the time._

"Bella. She works here. Emmett is her brother-in-law. She might be here. She might be working. Shit. Shit. Shit." I started to hyperventilate, panting out my words.

Jasper clapped me on the shoulder. "Well, this is great! Maybe you can talk to her."

I turned to look at him with trepidation. He was completely serious. "No, Jas, no. I _cannot_ go in there."

"Edward, I don't force you to do much, right?" He paused and faced me with a warm, reassuring face. "You're doin' this. You're goin' in." I saw the determination in his eyes. He would have to pick this situation to pull out the guilt and remind me how understanding he normally is.

"_If_ I go in there, ugh," my stomach swirled dizzyingly at the thought, "You will _not_ speak to her, ask about her or talk about her."

"Deal." He smiled, "I like you all fucked up; you're brain's all muddled, and you're much easier to negotiate with." He looked all smug and happy, and I sort of hated him.

I walked through the front door with the weight of a man walking to his own execution. At this point, I wasn't sure if I'd live through dinner. I was pretty damn sure I'd die of humiliation between entrée and dessert.

The hostess was a quiet but pretty girl, and she greeted us warmly. She walked us to a square table with a chair on each side, and Jasper and I sat down opposite each other. She said something about our server, but all I picked up was that the server's name _wasn't_ Bella. I was able to relax minutely. Bella wasn't anywhere to be seen. Maybe she wasn't working tonight.

I settled into my chair and unwrapped my silverware from the napkin. I rubbed all of the metal utensils furiously with the cloth.

"You know, they really are clean. We found it was much easier to just put them in the dishwasher than to try and convince patrons to eat with dirty forks." A clear, effervescent voice teased me. I shifted my gaze to see a tiny woman standing next to one of the empty chairs. Her hair was a short almost-black bob, and her bright eyes were a rich greenish-blue. Her face looked as if she were born smiling; her features settled into the shape naturally. She smelled warm and sweet like brown sugar, and there was an undertone of something vaguely familiar.

"I'm Alice, and I'll be your server tonight," as she spoke, she pulled out the empty chair and sat down at the table. If I hadn't been watching, I might not have noticed because her height didn't shift at all. Curiously, I glanced to the floor to see her toes stretched to meet the wood as her feet swung back and forth. Never mind how strange it was for a server to sit at the diners' table, I watched her feet swing and realized I was next to Bella's roommate.

"And you are?" She shoved her hand into my line of sight. _Was she for real?_

"Um, Edward. Nice to meet you Alice," I managed to stammer, shaking her hand. She shifted her gaze to Jasper, and they studied each other for a long moment. Jasper's eyes danced around her face as he reached out his hand.

"Hello, Miss Alice. I'm Jasper." She took his hand, but didn't shake it. They just held still and stared. After a deep breath, she redirected her focus.

"Okay, gentlemen. What're we drinking?" I wasn't sure if 'we' included her. After joining us at the table, maybe anything was fair game.

"Well, Alice," he purred her name, "I think I'll need to see a beer menu."

"No, you won't. What're you in the mood for, Jas?" I thought she was still asking about a beverage, but I couldn't be sure. One look at my best friend told me it was going to be one of _those_ nights.

"Well, darlin', somethin' light and refreshin' to go with this agreeable balmy weather we've been havin'." Oh God, he pulled out the accent. It was always barely there under the surface of his words, but when he wanted to charm a girl, he suddenly became Doc Holliday. It typically worked too.

Alice just nodded her head and shifted to look at me. "And what kind of beer are you in the mood for, Edward?"

"Uh, what Jasper said, I guess." He quirked an eyebrow at me over the table. _Yes, I plan on drinking. Why do you think you're driving?_

"Alright boys, look over these menus while I get your drinks. Then we can discuss what you'll order." Somehow it sounded as if we weren't going to have much to say in the matter. Jasper's eyes followed Alice's ass all the way back to the kitchen, and then he sighed.

"Bossy little thing, isn't she?" His eyes were bright and ridiculously sparkly. I huffed. "Oh, I almost forgot; is Bella here?"

"I don't think so. I haven't seen her anyway, but I'm pretty sure Alice is her roommate." I spoke pointedly and raised my eyebrows, silently pleading with him to behave himself. He gave me a stern disappointed glare.

Silently, we both read through the menu. Alice returned with two glasses of beer. They were obviously different, and the glass she set in front of me had an orange slice in it. I took a sip as she sat back down at the table.

"Good choice, Alice. It's my favorite," I was surprised to taste Hoegaarden. At least if she was bossy, she was accurate. She nodded at me dismissively as if to say 'I knew that; you're too easy.'

"Sweetness, this is delicious. What is it?" I scowled at his impromptu nickname but was impressed that she'd chosen something Jas couldn't identify.

"It's a microbrew we order up from down south. The brand is Abita," she pointed at his glass, "And that one is called Purple Haze," she finished with a wink. Jasper's eyes glazed over like a teenage girl dreaming about prom, and I could tell he was done for.

"So boys, have you decided on anything?"

"Well, Sweetness, do you have any suggestions for us?" I couldn't watch them anymore. It was depressing. Jasper had made more progress wooing Alice in twenty minutes than I had Bella in over six months.

"Of course I do." She paused and inhaled more air than I would've thought her miniature lungs could hold. "You're going to forgo an appetizer because the fresh bread is to die for. Then you'll have the baby greens salad with strawberries, they're in season, and toasted walnuts, they add a nice earthy flavor, tossed in a citrus balsamic vinaigrette, our house recipe, and topped with fried chévre, that's goat cheese.

"For your entrées you'll both have the Honey-Lime grilled pork chops, so good, with the haricot vert, which is fancy-pants for green beans, and Bella's famous mashed sweet potatoes." My eyes darted to Alice's face at Bella's name. She stared intently at me, obviously gauging my reaction. She knew who I was. Bella was here somewhere. I tried to glance down nonchalantly, but it was too late to take back my intense gaze.

"Make it two of those, Sweetness. I'm surprised you didn't pick us out somethin' sugary for later," Jasper drawled and leered. If he weren't so charming it would definitely translate as creepy. Like when I stared at Bella. _Ugh._

"Don't worry. I know what you'll have for dessert." One of her eyebrows shot up, and I was positive she wasn't talking about eating, at least not food. I think I saw a rivulet of drool streak down Jasper's chin as she walked away.

Alice returned quickly with a basket of warm flaky French bread and a small ramekin of something spreadable. She sat right down again, started tearing pieces of bread off and slathering the fragrant stuff on them for us.

"Alice, don't you have other tables?" I asked her curiously.

"Yep, why?" She looked expectant.

"Um, I just thought you wouldn't have the time to sit with us if . . ." I trailed off, noticing how unfriendly I sounded. She looked at me with the saddest puppy dog eyes and fluttered her eyelashes as if she were blinking back tears. _Oh fuck me. I'm an asshole._ Seriously, I attacked Bella, and now I can't even make it twenty-four hours without seeking out her roommate and making her cry. I was panic stricken as it dawned on me I had no idea what to do with a crying girl.

Her face shifted back into a wide, devious grin and she laughed, no, cackled. "Relax Eddie, I'm just fucking with you." She punched my arm. Hard. Jasper laughed a bit too loudly, a sycophantic gleam flashing in his eyes. He was sold. He was _chugging_ the Kool-Aid; he really was screwed. For a moment, it made me giddier than a schoolgirl. I wanted someone to suffer with me, even if he had a much better chance at normal interaction.

I scowled at her while I rubbed my arm as inconspicuously as possible.

"Well, try the bread." She pointed at the table. We obediently picked up the uneven chunks and bit into them. We chewed in silence for a moment, and then Jasper grinned.

"Sweetness, what _is_ that? It's so damned good."

"It's garlic cloves roasted in olive oil til they're mush," she turned to watch my face, and I nodded slightly in discomfort. "It was Bella's idea, actually. She's a server here. Her sister and brother-in-law own the place, so she helped with a lot of the menu." Her intent gaze made me want to squirm. She'd been waiting to say it. "Well, I'll go get your salads; enjoy the bread." She spun and bounced at the same time, and I thought that must be what flouncing looked like. Smug flouncing.

This was slow painful torture by a deceptively tiny little woman who contained entirely too much evil and served what promised to be astonishingly tasty food. Tasty like Bella. _Damn_.

Jasper was doing a poor job on the distraction for Edward front. Ever since Alice first sat down at the table, he'd been obsessively watching her move around the room. When she disappeared behind a door, he would stare patiently until she walked back through it. I prayed to God I didn't seem this imbecilic when I was around Bella, but I guessed I was probably worse.

Alice came back with vibrant salads, and I let myself be distracted by the delicious food. She sat again. At one point, she took Jas's fork, sweetly scolding him, and built him 'the perfect bite.' The fork held a little bit of everything, and she brought her hand to his mouth, feeding him. I almost threw up for the second time that day, and I resolved to ignore them as much as possible.

Alice left, apparently to do some sort of work. I truly had no idea how she was taking care of all her tables, but she seemed to be doing just fine. Jasper avidly watched her flounce smugly around, and he forgot to eat the rest of his salad. When she returned, she looked at me earnestly.

"Did you enjoy the salad, Edward?" A pleasant smile painted her face.

"Why yes, Alice, I did. Let me guess, Bella's recipe?" Her eyes popped innocently wide in surprise.

"Well, no, Edward. It was Rose's idea. Why would you think that?" She was trying to bait me, and she paused before casually whispering, "It just happens to be Bella's favorite."

She picked up our plates and winked at me before turning to dance away.

"Isn't she fascinatin'?" Jasper breathed, and I couldn't tell if he was actually posing the question for _me_.

"Definitely fascinating," I grumbled. "She'd make a wonderful Wicked Witch; she's got the cackle down, not to mention the evil."

Jas didn't hear me, and Alice made her way back with larger plates. She set them down in front of us and sat herself in the chair. I glanced pointedly at my empty beer glass once I knew I had her attention. She scowled at me, stood up and turned to get me another. She was back quickly with a new beer for each of us, and to my ever-mounting dismay, she sat back down again.

"Alice, I think we're fine here for the time being if there's anything else you need to do." I wanted her gone from the table. She was cute and not wholly obnoxious, but she seemed insistent on bringing up Bella. I wasn't sure how much she knew, and it made me very uneasy.

"I'm waiting to see if you like the food." She averred.

Jasper, in his greatest moment of ignorance I had ever witnessed, completely disregarded everything I'd said, drawling, "Well, Sweetness, you're welcome to keep us company all night if you'd like." I stretched my leg out and kicked him hard under the table. He winced and shrugged. Fucking traitor.

Alice leveled a pointed look at me, raising an eyebrow. I picked up my fork, stabbed at the plate and shoved some food in my mouth. My aggravation was immediately replaced with taste bud delights.

"OhmyGod, Alice. That's so good," I mumbled through a mouthful of the best mashed sweet potatoes I'd ever tasted. "Wha-?"

"I know, right? It's Stilton," she interrupted. "Bella puts Stilton in her mashed sweet potatoes."

A wave of desire washed over me. It was strange, food made me want to attack her in an elevator even more. It was dizzying. I was depraved. The memories of being pressed against her in the small warm space brought her taste and smell back to me, heightening the flavors on my tongue. Alice continued to sit with us at the table, but thankfully, she was quiescently enthralled with Jasper and, apparently, his mouth. I ignored the intense gazes pulling Jasper and Alice slowly closer to each other. While I considered picking up my plate to lap up the residue my fork couldn't acquire, Alice stood up, removed the plates and moved to the kitchen without saying a word.

Jasper exhaled an infatuated sigh, and I resisted the urge to reach across the table and smack him.

"Are you about ready to go?" I queried to regain his attention. His eyes shifted to me with a miserable look and then back to the doorway through which Alice had disappeared. When I saw his eyebrows lift and a smile spread over his cheeks, I knew Alice was on her way back.

She walked over with two plates of pie with fluffy white cream on top, setting them in front of us. She took her seat again, leaned her elbows on the table and rested her chin in her hands.

"Muscadine pie," she offered simply.

Jasper tucked in without question, but I couldn't help the curiosity, which, against my better judgment, encouraged Alice to talk.

"What is a Muscadine?"

"Some sort of large grape. I think it's related to a Scuppernong," she answered distractedly as she watched a blissful expression wash over Jasper's face. _Oh well that cleared everything right up. __**Everyone**__ knew what Scuppernongs were._

"Fuckin' delicious, that's what." He mumbled over a half masticated shovel full of pie. I took a tentative bite and discovered once again Jasper was right.

It _was_ unbelievably delicious. The whipped cream had cinnamon in it, and I wondered why I'd never thought of that before. The fruit was interesting and tart, and the pie crust,_ oh my God._ I enjoyed cooking, but I never claimed to be a baker. Pastries, cakes and pies seemed like complicated chemistry to me, and I didn't relish the idea of dealing with intricate measuring utensils, sifters and magical ingredients, which, if forgotten, could ruin a whole endeavor. The closest I ever got to baking involved simple custards. I knew enough to know I was eating the best pâte brisée crust I'd ever had. I'd always preferred it to normal piecrust, but this one was better, different. I couldn't place the subtle flavor, but I was prudent enough to keep my mouth shut. I was sure Alice would enjoy explaining to me in detail how Bella had designed this dish too; maybe she'd even grown the grapes, whipped the cream or churned the butter used in the crust.

_Hmm . . . Bella churning butter. Her fingers wrapped around the long handle, the smooth motions as her arms worked the shaft. Up and down. Up and down . . . _

My stomach churned now as I admitted to myself that even pie made me want to molest the poor girl. Watching Jasper make goo-goo eyes at Alice helped squelch my desire to search the whole building and attack Bella, but it also made me sad. I had exhausted myself. I wanted to crawl between my cool sheets, dream of Bella in the blissful inky darkness of my room and possibly never wake up. In my dreams, I was a normal, decent man, and Bella loved me. My reality was morose in comparison, and it sapped my energy. My shoulders slumped forward as I rested my forehead on my crossed arms.

"Here you go, Edward." Alice handed me a folder containing what I assumed was my check. She handed Jasper a similar folder, and I was surprised she'd split the bill without having to be asked.

"Alice," Jasper whispered, "I was wonderin . . ." I'd never heard him stall or stammer around a woman before; if it hadn't been so nauseating, it would've been cute.

"Jas, your folder has my phone number in it," she stated in an offhand, matter-of-fact sort of way. "I expect you to call me within the next forty-eight hours, understood?" He nodded mutely, a giant grin back on his face. "Edward, I gave you the whole bill because I know Jasper was here for you, and I figured you'd want to thank him." She turned and flounced away. Smugly.

I would have been indignant, but she was annoyingly correct. Jasper had dropped whatever he was doing to babysit me, and I was generally a mediocre friend in return.

That Monday night, after I curled up in my cool sheets and drifted off to sleep, I had vivid and conflicting dreams of Bella. They alternated between hungry, desperate, painful aching leaving me hollow and empty and innocuous, pleasant, charming bliss full of yummy pies and cinnamon whipped cream. I awoke feeling raw and missing her taste.

Seven days passed since my lips touched hers. Seven days since I felt the radiating warmth of Bella pressed against my body. Seven days since I discovered I wanted to take all she had, to leave her nothing. Seven days since her best friend made me see, unintentionally through food, I needed to stay away from her.

She was light, airy and shiny, and I was merely the tarnish to her silver. I couldn't leave her anything. I wanted everything from her, and I had nothing to give. I would not hollow her out, making a magnificent creature into a shell. I avoided the elevator Wednesday and Friday, and I thought if I could do that and make it through the weekend, it would get easier to stay away.

I was wrong.

As I had the days before, I watched her on the following Monday at 11:09 a.m. through the small square of glass in the stairwell door as she stepped out of the elevator. She wore her old jeans again and a dark blue blouse made of some sort of thin cottony, gauzy material. It epitomized her. Light and flowing and refreshing, yet still deep and saturated and fascinating.

I couldn't smell her as she walked by. I couldn't see her eyes, but I saw the set of her mouth, her frown. I wanted to taste her on my tongue even if it was just in the air hovering around her body. I couldn't, not through a ten-inch square of safety glass. I gripped the door handle, pulling it redundantly against the jamb, afraid if I didn't hold it closed, I'd push it open. I saw her for ten seconds, but I didn't really see her. I didn't see her cheeks lift and blush pale pink when the elevator doors opened to reveal her there. Her soft sweet smiles were lost to me. Her brilliant dark eyes couldn't invite me to wonder at their secrets and mysteries if I couldn't see them. The heart-aching sight of warm fringy lashes fluttering delicately against her dewy skin as she tentatively pressed her lips to mine was no longer mine to have. Never was, really.

That's why I watched through a tiny window instead of standing next to her in an elevator car. She wasn't mine, and I wasn't good for her.

After she disappeared through the lobby, I raced up the stairs back to my apartment. I timed the steps as I always had, attempting to force the chaos in my head to become sense. I wanted to finish the composition I'd started after reading _American Rhapsody_. It had been two weeks since I started it, and I still couldn't resolve the notes. I'd never struggled for long with a piece and it frustrated me.

Inside my head, Bella's melodic voice recalled the words she'd read in the park almost two weeks ago. I could hear her clearly, so much richness of timbre keeping the rhythm paced, and I timed it with my steps._ 'And do you now, baby, as you climb the stairs, do you still feel as you felt back there? Do you feel again as you felt this morning? And the night before? And then the night before that?'_ I remembered her eyes as they'd burned into me while she read, seated on the park bench. Just as then, her eyes stripped me down and left me bare, exposed. Even in my memories, her gaze pierced my carefully constructed armor, and I became transparent.

I hurried into my apartment and couldn't get my pants unzipped quickly enough. I rubbed and stroked my poor abused erection aggressively as random images of Bella circled through my head. Her spring-scented hair, her shining eyes, the swell of her breasts, her graceful neck, her deliciously full lips pressed against mine, her soft wet tongue swiping across my lip, and that simply I ejaculated forcefully into my own hand.

As I stood at my sink trying to scrub away my revulsion a now familiar sob escaped my chest. Hot salty tears spilled out of my eyes, and I struggled to quell the shaking and hitching of my shoulders. As miserable as I felt about pushing myself onto Bella in the elevator, I knew, given the opportunity, I would do the same exact thing over and over again. I wanted her and couldn't have her, shouldn't have her, but I could do nothing to change my situation. So, I sobbed and mourned my loss.

Eventually, my tears dried and my breath calmed, and I walked hollowly to the piano. Just as I had experienced last Wednesday and Friday, I was able to play partially through the piece which reminded me of Bella so much it made my hollow chest clench, but I got stuck in the same spot. No more notes. No more music. No more sound. Then, just Bella's voice. '_Or do you feel: What is one more night in a lifetime of nights? What is one more death, or friendship, or divorce out of two, or three? Or four? Or five? One more face among so many, many faces, one more life among so many million lives?'_ I slammed my fingers inharmoniously against the keys, beating a dissonant peal from the strings.

I repeated myself frenetically, playing melodically then bashing the keys as nothingness flooded my brain. After doing the same thing over and again for longer than I'd like to admit, I heard a confident sharp knock at my door.

No one ever knocked on my door in the middle of the day. Not even Jasper. I assumed after a moment of confusion, it must be building maintenance. They were supposed to notify us if they needed to come in, but sometimes they didn't. I stood perfunctorily and slogged to the door. I turned the dead bolt and yanked the door open with disinterest.

I smelled her at the exact same moment my eyes met hers. She had a nervous yet determined expression on her face and two coffee cups in her hands.

I heard the last echo of a memory provoked by deep, chestnut eyes, the smells of summer and waterfalls and my Gram's ambrosia, _'But first, baby, as you climb and count the stairs (and they total the same), did you, sometime or somewhere, have a different idea? Is this, baby, what you were born to feel, and do, and be?'_

Bella was at my door.

**BPOV**

Seeing Edward in the restaurant last Monday after he kissed me and ran away, made my gut drop and land down around my shoes with a splat. I fled to the kitchen, dragging Alice by the wrist, and begged her to cover my tables, so I could hide. Thankfully, she loved me enough to agree. Secretly, I think she was equally motivated by the opportunity to screw with his head. I couldn't claim to mind because he was screwing with mine.

I peeked out through the swinging door to the kitchen and watched his face alternate between embarrassment, surprise, revulsion (mostly when he had to watch Alice ensnare his friend with her batting lashes and bossy demeanor) and sadness. That was the worst, it made my chest ache. He looked so drawn and miserable. I wanted to run out to him and kiss it all away, but I couldn't help thinking my kiss was what caused those feelings to take root in the first place. So, I crouched behind a door like a child, hidden from a beautiful tortured man.

Alice reassured me he'd warmed up to her a bit, and she was positive he was in love with me. Her words, not mine. I felt myself begin to hope. I hoped his panic was short lived, just anxiety. I hoped I would see him as the elevator doors parted on Wednesday, eyes simmering pools of green as they lighted upon my face. I hoped for lingering stares and unintentional lopsided grins, which I would swear translated the sun. I hoped, irrationally, he would sweep into the space and kiss me earnestly, a flash of heat, green and sunlight through bright amber, warm soft lips, clear peppermint and wet tongues. That hope made my heart throb painfully against my ribs.

To say Wednesday was a disappointment was to say I missed my mom. The words were completely true, yet somehow lacked the pungent emotion roiling in my head, in my heart. The morning was made evermore arduous by my unrealized hopes. There was no sweep, no kiss, no green, no amber, no peppermint. No heat.

I couldn't stop my feet from Edward's floor once I returned Jake to his home. Not that I tried. I sat in bittersweet silence, absorbing the harmonious notes as they flowed into a discordant anarchy ending with the mash keys. Every time. My muscles flinched in response to every frustrated jab at disorderly chords. The strain grew with the sounds and mirrored my aggravation. I didn't know what was wrong with me or what Edward's problem was, and I felt like howling my impotence in an accompaniment to the piano. I left feeling more disgruntled than before, and the hope I carried that morning converted to disappointment.

I couldn't help myself. I went back again on Friday. Nothing had changed, aside from my discovery I was a glutton for punishment.

My whole weekend was a blur of working and waking and sleeping and dreams. Dreams in which Edward held me, kissed me and made love to me. He relished, he dazzled, he never withheld. Dreams in which Edward feared me, ran away and hid from me. I chased, I sought, I never found.

On the following Monday, I decided to take action. I obviously couldn't just let the man fade into the recesses of my memory to be revisited in a melancholy future, so I resolved to push. Tentatively.

I purchased a tea for myself and a coffee for Edward; Seth was more than willing to make me his usual. Standing in front of his door, I heard him screaming his frustration. His voice was the notes, the keys, but he screamed nonetheless. I set the drinks down on the floor, and my fist hovered under the metallic numbers marking his door. For a moment I considered grabbing the cups and darting down the stairs, running until a pain stabbed into my side and hot liquid gurgled out of the cups. Instead I pounded the wood beneath my balled hand with spurious confidence, relieved my knuckles didn't stutter.

I had enough time to pick up the cups and hold them out both as a shield against rejection and as a peace offering. I had no idea when, why or how we'd come to be at war. Maybe we weren't; maybe I just felt submerged in a battle.

The door swung open haphazardly, and Edward didn't look at me immediately. His tortured eyes jumped to mine, and his beautiful mouth fell slack with surprise.

"Hi, Edward." I greeted him simply.

"Bella, hi . . . how did you know where I live?" He looked stunned, and I was completely unprepared for his question. I didn't know if I could admit the truth, so I fumbled for a reasonable albeit dishonest response.

"Um, I looked at Mike's list when he went to the bathroom." I was a terrible liar; I hoped he didn't see through my fabrication. His eyes watched mine, but they didn't seek truths. They were exhausted and resigned. He continued to block the entrance with his body, and I couldn't tell if it was to keep me out intentionally or just bewilderment.

"May I come in, please?" I wanted to have a real conversation with him. I had to start somewhere.

"Uh, um, sure, I guess," he stepped back slowly, gesturing for me to move past him through the doorway.

I didn't hesitate, unwilling to give him the option of changing his mind. His apartment felt like an inherent extension of him. It definitely smelled like him, and I felt punch-drunk as I drew in a full deep breath of Edward. His apartment was very crisp and clean without being cold. Most of his furniture and decorations were modern and minimalist, but there were subtle eclectic elements to keep everything from feeling harsh. A beautiful piano was positioned near a large window over looking the street, and my mind immediately imagined him seated there, fingers dancing over the keys. Edward followed quietly behind me, leaving only the nervous shuffle of his feet in his wake.

"So, this is my apartment," he offered anxiously.

"It's beautiful. It's like you," I breathed before I could register how it sounded, and I chased my accidental admission with heated cheeks and a shy smile. I reached out my hand to give him the coffee. "It's your usual. Seth made it for me."

"Thank you, Bella." His eyes held mine, "You didn't have to."

"Actually, I kind of owed you, and I needed a reason to visit you." I decided to just suck it up and be brave. It was his turn to flush, and I barely resisted the urge to bridge the gap between us, Velcro-ing my body to his. "I wanted to talk to you, Edward, because I like you." I felt like I had made this clear before, but just in case he was dense, I reiterated.

"I like you too. A lot." My heart started a marathon race, and I thought my ribs might crack with the pressure. Until I heard his next words, "But, I just don't know what I'm doing here." He gestured between us, and suddenly the few feet seemed wider than the Grand Canyon. I could see the doubtful hesitancy in his eyes, and it punctured my inflated chest faster than a knife. Maybe he just didn't want me enough. I definitely didn't fit into his organized minimalist life.

"Honestly? I'm not sure what I'm doing _here_ either," I stressed 'here' to imply I might have made a huge mistake knocking on his door. Suddenly, gurgling hot liquid bubbling over my hands as I ran as fast I could away from his front door seemed like a great alternative to my current situation. "I just want to be your friend, Edward. If that's all you'll have . . ." I whispered the last part, trailing off. _Very brave, Bella._

His eyes softened and swam with concern. "Thank you. I _want_ you as a friend, but . . ."

"Will you play for me, please?" I hastened to ask before he could reform rejection, which melted on the tip of his tongue. His eyes widened with a stricken expression. I pleaded with mine, and he moved over to the bench.

"Is there anything you'd like to hear?" The question escaped in a tentative whisper through his beautiful lips.

"Well, I don't really know anything to request. Maybe you could just play something that makes you think of me." He looked agonized, and his brows knitted above crystalline green eyes, which begged me not to make him choose. I knew what I wanted to ask for, but I _wanted_ him to choose. I gave him a reassuring nod, and settled myself next to him on the bench. I didn't stop my fingers from crawling onto his thigh and settling into the rough weave of his jeans. His muscles tensed and released under my palm.

Edward shifted his weight and inhaled a deep noisy breath. His fingers hovered over the keys, and then he began to play.

The notes he sculpted from the ivory were mine. The sound billowed around me, seeped into my pores and flooded my veins. All of my uncertainty bubbled up my chest and dissipated, replaced with warmth. Edward's fingers approached the chords where I knew him to falter, and I held my breath. The music continued confidently for a few moments longer than he'd ever played it before. I watched his shoulders relax minutely and his face soften. Hot tears rolled down my cheeks, expelling the aching in my chest.

Then there was an anarchic clash, and he was panting with frustration.

I clenched my fingers on his leg slightly, trying to comfort him. Edward dropped the fall, hiding the keys, before he pivoted to face me. His face was crumpled with disgust and aggravation.

"I'm sorry, Bella. I can't -" his chest hitched, and he slid my hand slowly off his leg.

"No, Edward, I'm sorry. I'm sorry I kissed you. I'm sorry I asked you to play. I'm sorry," I blubbered, entreating. I wasn't sure what I asked for, but I knew I was asking.

"Stop." He reached out to hold my face, and my eyelids unwittingly fluttered closed, my cheek tilted into his hand. The heat of his breath on my face gave me chills, and then his lips were pressed soft and warm against mine. His kiss was sweet and gentle, desperate and needy all at once. After a long moment of his mouth tenderly molding to mine, he drew back slightly and tilted his forehead to rest on my temple. "You have no reason to apologize, Bella. You're amazing. It's just . . . it's just me. I can't be a good friend to you. I just _can't_."

"But . . ." I didn't know what to say. He called me amazing, he kissed me and then he fed me a bullshit line. "I'm just trying to be your friend . . ."

"I'm sorry, Bella. It really is better for you this way. I think you should go." Fingers stroked gingerly down my cheeks before tracing my chin and dropping back to his sides. His words should have been hard, cruel, but they only sounded broken.

Tears streaked down my face and saturated the front of my shirt. Standing silently, I reached out to grip his shoulder for a second, and his fingers flew up to hover over mine. I waited for him to rescind my dismissal, but all he did was skim his fingertips over my skin before withdrawing his hand all together. I walked quickly to his door; I wanted to clutch myself to him and never let go, but he asked me to leave. I chanced one last look at Edward before he was out of my line of sight; his face was turned to the window, his shoulders were slumped forward, his body trembled. I slammed the door behind me, and the sharp sound echoed the crack in my chest.

My teeth caught my bottom lip and willed the pain to replace my tears. My hands scrubbed roughly at my face as I stepped into the elevator car. My fingers twisted into my eyes, pressed into the wet fringe. I struggled for a deep, calming breath.

I managed to keep a dry-ish face while I made my way home. The tightening of my cheeks as the salty moisture dried on my skin matched the tightening in my stomach. I tried to imagine it wrapping _me_ tightly, steeling me from my confusion.

Alice walked out of the kitchen as I stepped through the front door.

"Honey, what's wrong?" She asked with panic in her voice.

"I'm fine Alice. I'm fine," I said, shaking my head. I felt my face start to twist around the weepy hiccup caught in my throat, "I'm fine. Alice, I'm fine. I'm fine. I'm fine, I'm fine." I chanted through the sobs hitching from my lungs, and the tears poured down to my chin.

"Oh, Bella," Alice folded herself around me as I slid to the floor. She squeezed my shoulders tightly as I rocked back and forth, chanting my fallacious mantra. After a few minutes, the constriction of her slender arms fiercely encompassed me and helped assuage my weeping.

"Sweetie, do you think we could move to the couch?" She whispered softly.

"S-sure," I stammered with a watery smile.

Alice unwrapped herself from my slumped frame and stood back to let me stand. She followed me to the couch and watched me flop onto the cushions. Her warm little body curled up next to mine as her arm curved around me again.

"Bella, what's wrong?" Her face was painted with worry, and I didn't know where to begin.

So, I started in the beginning. I started with my hallway concerts, and the beautiful stranger in the elevator. Alice had heard a lot of it before, but I told her again anyway. It was a credit to her self-control that she didn't react when I told her about over six months of hallway lurking. She let out a small gasp when I explained to her that _Edward _was my private composer, her eyes goggled wide.

Her face hardened as I explained his reaction to our kiss in the elevator. I'd left it out when explaining to her who he was in the restaurant. Alice's glare was directed at my prior lack of disclosure, and I knew it. I asked her for a temporary reprieve until I was able to handle her scolding; she was kind enough to let it go, for now. I told her about my failed attempt to push my relationship with Edward a little further, which resulted in his assertion of his inability even to be friends with me.

"Alice, he said he couldn't be my friend. He asked me to leave." A few more tears escaped with the words. Alice pulled me into a hug and smoothed my hair comfortingly.

"Bella, I love you, but I have to tell you, I think you sort of brought this on yourself."

"What?" I was in utter disbelief. What the hell was she talking about?

"Hon, you've imagined this perfect man who plays this beautiful music for you, and it turns out he's gorgeous. I think your brain just decided he was perfect. I don't think you know him at all. What would make you think he would act any way in particular? Maybe this is normal for him," she patted my hand gently as if it softened the gut-punch she'd just delivered me. "Listen, I think it's painfully obvious he's very interested in you; his eyes glaze over at the mention of your name, but I think you need to take this whole thing slowly and actually get to know him."

I mutely stared at her with incredulity.

"I think you should continue to try, but be careful. You don't know what his issues are, and trust me I can tell that boy is chock-full of 'em." She leveled me with an extremely serious expression. "Bella, I don't think you should go sit in his hallway anymore. I think you should limit your interactions to, well, actual interactions."

"I see what you're saying, Alice," I shrugged. "Maybe I did infuse our relationship with false intimacy we didn't actually have. It just feels so . . . ugh!"

"I know, hon, I know." Her eyes glassed over, and I could tell she was thinking about Jasper. He'd called her the very same night they'd met. They had been on numerous dates, and Jasper had visited our apartment more than once already. I poked her teasingly in the ribs to evoke ringing giggles, and I felt microscopically better.

I knew Alice was right. I had to stop sitting in Edward's hallway and hallucinating about how perfect he was.

I knew Alice was right.

But I couldn't stop.

My days melded into a blur that only came into focus for one hour three times a week. I moved through my life hollowly, only looking forward to my next hour outside of apartment 702. It was horrible in more ways than one.

The knowledge he was only feet away was agony. The sound of his presence in the blanket of harmony was torture. I sat and I listened, and I saw his face. The damaged expression he wore when he told me to leave his apartment; when he told me he couldn't be what I wanted. I cried silent tears, which burned invisible scars into my skin, and I listened. I listened because I needed to hear reassurance he was okay. I needed to know he was right when he said it was best if we weren't friends.

_But he'd never actually said that, had he?_

I wanted to know he wasn't broken, didn't hurt like I did.

Then I'd get angry with myself for caring so much about someone I barely knew. My heart couldn't be broken. I'd hardly had time to give it to him. I felt ridiculous and impetuous for allowing him to matter. I tried to store him in the recesses of my mind.

I tried.

Not truly. Not really.

I didn't want him to dissipate into a fog of memory and regret and lost opportunity. I wasn't ready to forget, to let go.

I still had hope. Irrational and insane hope.

I hadn't seen him in twenty days.

In twenty days, I'd heard him play the same composition, an obsessive loop always ending abruptly, angrily in the same place. The place he'd stopped with me seated next to him on the piano bench. Somehow I knew his lack of progress was directly related to the resignation in his eyes when he asked me to leave his life by leaving his apartment. He hadn't been in the elevator once, and I had to wonder if our previous meetings had anything to do with chance. Seth informed me that Edward hadn't been in for coffee since the day we had found each other in the shop. I asked.

So, I sat and listened. I listened for a sign his decision was the correct one. The prudent one. A sign I should heed his assertions and ignore his frustration. I could feel the tension crackling through his door as he pounded the keys. His fingers had to have split and bled. Everyday it was worse, never better.

On the twentieth day since I'd seen him last, I decided I would not exceed twenty-one. I decided he needed me whether he would admit it or not, and I desperately needed him. He would listen to me. He would hear what I had to say, and hopefully he would understand.

I rose early with the melancholy sweetness of a lingering dream. A dream of Edward, who loved my hips, my skin, my hair, my lips. Making love, taking everything I have, more than I knew possible, and absorbing me whole. A sense of surety infused me, and I was positive I wanted, needed Edward. More importantly I was sure he needed me, whether he would accept it willingly or not. I dressed with intention on the twenty-first day, happier than I'd been for weeks with a glimmer of a sweet dream and a plan of attack.

It had been twenty-one days since I'd seen him last, and I would not wait for twenty-two.

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**a/n part 2: So, I didn't mention it before, but part of the delay was because I wrote a oneshot for the Tattward & Inkella contest. I am giddy to say, I made it to the voting round, and if you haven't already, you should go read it. You're also quite welcome to vote for it, I'm just sayin . . .**

**It's called Sleeper in a Clone Suit, and it will more than make up for all the mopey angst I just served you with this chapter.**

**Story and voting are here: **http://www . fanfiction . net/~tattwardandinkella

**I will love you forever if you read it and review. **

**Speaking of reviews . . . do it, click the button, do it, do it! You know you want to (which means the same thing as 'you know I want you to.')**


	5. Beats, Bodies and Breath

**Thank you to my patient, super-speed beta Viola Cornuta. **

**Disclaimer: Not mine.**

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**EPOV**

I'd been slumped in the same position for over an hour; this was the closest I would let myself get to the elevator . . . to _her_. My back was pressed firmly against my front door, my knees pulled up and strangled tightly by my arms. I was sitting on the floor in my entryway when I simultaneously felt and heard the series of staccato raps on the door.

Remaining motionless for a moment, my mind bolted through the possibilities.

It was she, the knock on my door. I hadn't seen her in three weeks. It had to be.

I hoped it was she.

I wished it wasn't.

There really was no other possibility. For a comical split second, I entertained the unlikely chance I was strong enough to ignore the knock. Ignore her. Two inches of wood divided us. _Hah._

I wasn't strong enough; I lifted myself slowly off the floor and admired her confident silence. I knew she was still out there, but she didn't make to summon me again.

She knew I'd open the door eventually. She was completely right.

The door followed my grip, slowly swinging open, and there she was. As soon as my eyes met hers, I was sure I hadn't breathed for days; I had starved, thirsted. Winded, famished, parched, I stared at her. _So beautiful._

I had gone too long without the sight of her, and I allowed myself to absorb everything with my fervid gaze. Her rich brown eyes shimmered with golden glints of conviction, and frankly, the intensity she leveled straight back made me nervous. Her lips were warm, rosy, soft - yet set. The peach energy in her cheeks flushed, invigorated. Bella's determination was evident, but she didn't seem angry. An anxious breath escaped my lungs gratefully. The supple, creamy body she hid under her usual clothes was barely contained in today's gauzy sundress. Thin strings tied bows across her elegant collarbone and over her shoulders; kissing the inky bright flowers, which curled over her arm. My fingers twitched forward before my brain could rein them in. I wanted to tug those strings. I continued my visual journey down her front in an effort to distract myself from the easily corrupted trappings of her clothes.

Not my best distraction-plan ever. The collarbone led to her breasts, full and plush and, _oh dear God_, braless. The flare of her skirt just made me think of other undergarments she may or may not have been wearing. I huffed a short breath and settled my view on her leanly muscular legs. _So beautiful_.

"Edward." She said it. No question, no challenge, no animosity.

"Hi, Bella." I wanted to strip her down naked and lick her entire body, so I took a timid little step backward. Before I could move the whole step, a firm, warm hand slipped into mine. She tightened her grip to halt my retreat, but it was completely unnecessary. As soon as I felt her skin against mine, the hum tingling through my nerve endings, she glued me to the spot. I was doomed. Beyond five-second-stares and warm, slow elevators and disturbingly vivid fantasies and desperate, needy kisses. _Doomed._

She didn't say another word after my name, and my heart thrummed at the thought of her starting and ending every day, every moment, with my name sweetening her tongue, echoing in my ears. She tugged my hand, and wordlessly, I allowed myself to tow along behind her as she turned toward the elevator. Her free hand pushed the button, and over her shoulder, I watched her face reflected in the steel doors. She studied me back, and I was unnerved by the ferocity as umber eyes met mine. Her dim mirror image glimmered brighter than any unhampered face I'd ever seen, and I was enthralled. Enthralled by the lick of her tongue over lips, the determination emblazoned across her reflection, the silently panted air swelling her chest.

The bell chimed, the doors groaned open, and she pulled me into the warm space.

She depressed the button for the lobby, and the doors closed.

I stared at our hands, joined, linked by warm, intertwined fingers. Soft skin on me; her thumb pressed tiny circles into my hand.

My feet dug harder into the floor, my weight shifted uneasily towards my knees, as I looked up to see the emergency stop button under her finger.

She fluidly turned to face me, and I could see the words gathering in her head, behind her eyes.

"Edward, I want to be around you, and no matter what you say, I know you want, no, need to be around me too." Whoa. I didn't know what I'd expected from the girl who silently dragged me from my apartment to trap me in an elevator, but that wasn't anywhere near the list. The most shocking thing about her statement was how true it was. Tingling bands of warmth started to spread across my chest. She wanted to be around me . . . but I wasn't healthy for her. For anyone.

My face hardened with determined disappointment, and I wracked my vacant head for something appropriate to say. Something to make her see. I was empty, hollow; I had nothing to offer her.

"Bella, I don't know who you think I am, but I'm not a good person. Not that I'm a really _bad_ guy; I mean . . . I'm not dangerous or anything, _ugh_. I don't know what I'm trying to say. I just know I'm not good for anyone, especially you." I locked my glare on the floor. I couldn't see her face. I was so afraid I'd hurt her. I knew my words would, but I knew it would be worse if I let her think I was anything but . . . what I was.

"So have you always made up your mind about everything before you gave it a chance to happen?" Her voice was a thin hard edge, and she would have sounded tough if I hadn't detected the slight waver at the end. "You can't run away right now; you might as well talk to me." She was harsh; I deserved it.

I hesitantly raised my eyes to hers, and they mirrored my agony, which bloomed in my chest, pulsed through my veins and coursed into my limbs.

"Bella . . ." I started. I wanted to tell her. I wanted her to know how abnormal I was. I couldn't get the words out. "I . . . I've watched you."

I waited for realization to wash across her face, for her to slap me, to panic, to run screaming from the small steel enclosure as quickly as she could get the doors open.

"Watched me do what? What do you mean?" Innocence and confusion painted her deep eyes, rosy cheeks, plump mouth. I didn't want to elaborate. I elaborated.

"Before I m-met you, I watched you." She still looked at me as if she saw nothing wrong with what I'd said. I wanted to shake her shoulders, scream at her to comprehend how disturbed I was. "Shit, I don't even get in the elevator if I don't think you might be in it, Bella. I take the stairs." My eyes burned into hers, and I silently begged her to register what I was ineffectively attempting to explain.

"So you think you're bad for me because you wanted to be around me and didn't have the courage to introduce yourself?" She smirked, but her eyes were dead serious.

"It's not that simple." I countered.

"I think it is, and I don't care if you think you're not good for me. I don't care if you're_ not_ good for me. I want to find out for myself." As she spoke, her body pressed forward, and the invisible barrier I tried to maintain between us weakened as she barreled me into the wall. Finally, when I couldn't retreat any farther, she stepped towards me again, obliterating my bubble.

Sweet heat grazed my face, and I sucked in a hungry gulp of her breath. The scents of summer and sugar and lust flooded my head, dislodged my laughable self-control. I could taste her on my tongue, and a pleasant burn chased her down my throat, inflating my lungs with hope and freshness and _her_.

"Edward, I like you." I felt her lips whisper against mine, and I swallowed her words greedily. I would take and treasure anything she would give me. "You need me whether you're ready to accept it or not."

"Uh . . . I don't . . ." and before I could even try to be coherent, her lips smothered mine.

I tumbled into a sensory abyss, and all I felt were full pink lips, a soft wet tongue, Bella's gasps in my mouth and delicate fingers across my back. When she finally released my mouth and inhaled my exhalations, I tried to breathe some cognizance into her.

"Bella -" Her small hand muffled my thoughts, my lips, silenced my anxieties.

"Stop thinking so much, Edward." Her lips replaced her fingers, and I relaxed into the wall, gently taking her body with mine.

The loud ringing of a telephone shocked me. Out of heaven. Away from Bella. Her hands groped leisurely down my arms to my hips with a squeeze, then she stepped to the box, opened the little door and picked up the receiver.

"Hello?" She sounded weak, shaky and frail. My eyes snapped to her face, searching for the hurt I'd caused. It was clear in her voice, my doing, but her eyes twinkled mischievously and her face was aglow. She listened for a moment and then replied in the same wan voice. "No . . . no, Mike, the elevator's not broken. I was feeling sick, so I stopped it for a moment. The movement was making me woozy. I'll only be a minute; I'm really sorry." She smiled slyly as she dropped the receiver back into the box.

Before I could move, she stepped to me and pressed her body into mine.

"Bella . . ." I made another weak attempt to do the right thing. I needed to let her go, but what can you do when you muster every meager ounce of will-power left in your body, throw your arms wide to release the one person you desperately want to clench hold of and she grips tighter? I didn't have any energy left to reject her; no strength to peel her from me. My heart wasn't in it anyway.

"You need me Edward. I know you do," The more she said it, the less I could deny it to myself. She pressed her lips to mine, and fire jolted through my frame. A new unfamiliar thumping started in my chest as if my heart beat for the first time. My body moved of its own volition. My arms clung to her shoulders, and my hands groped her soft flesh, traced the colorful ink embracing her arm, touched every piece of Bella I could. While I could.

As she kissed me deeper, her tongue pushing passionately past my lips, swirls of music swelled into elegant patterns inside my head. All I could do was feel. Feel the diaphanous cotton fabric of her dress, the cushioned velvet lips pressed fiercely into my mouth, the milky skin of her arms under mine. Then my fingers skimmed down her back, ghosts of currents tingled the tips like electric plasma filaments restrained by a brittle glass globe. I palmed the curve of her hips, the swell of her ass, and, bending my knees, smoothed down further to her lean muscular legs.

Bella stole the air from my lungs as my hands migratedtowards her inner thighs. She pushed her fingers into my hair, gripping hard. I moaned against her mouth; in response, she emitted a quiet feminine sound, slid her hands to find purchase on my shoulders and hitched her leg onto my hip, resting the weight in my palm.

My thoughts became incoherent, drowned in whirling notes and scents of summer and the taste of her tongue all harmonized into a symphony of _her_. I moved instinctually, lifted her other leg and spun to press her into the wall, me into her.

I kissed her, pushed into her body. I melded to her hungry, needy touches, consumed her sweet, wet flavor, gasped lungs full of her languid summer scent, watched her eyelashes flutter gently against flushed skin. Stole everything she had to give.

She brought her hands down to the hip-level handrail, bracing herself, as she tilted her head back against the cool brushed steel. Warmth seeped into my lower abdomen from the burning heat between her legs. My lips dragged over her jaw and down her neck, scattered hasty desperate kisses over her delicate throat and paused to lap at the throb of her quickened pulse, as my fingers gripped her thighs, holding her tight to me. A sobbed moan hitched from her chest, betrayed the aching intensity of our touch.

"Bella," I uttered reverently to her chest, over her heart. Her head leaned forward, and she sucked my earlobe between her lips. Her tongue traced the edge up to the top and back down to the fleshy lobe again. Sucking harder, she bit down with a low rumbling purr. My chest felt as if it were splitting open to draw her into me, and I shifted my torso back slightly to watch her eyes darken, lids rolling shut. I settled her legs around my waist and reached up with both hands to the flimsy confines of her dress. I tugged the strings simultaneously and yanked them down, the filmy fabric yielding easily.

Her bare breasts were more amazing than her clothes and my imagination could ever conspire to suggest, and I quickly captured them with my hands. I watched the pert pink nipples harden and pucker under my touch before I leaned in to lick and suck and nibble. In return, her sighs and gasps and whimpers echoed seductively in my ears.

"Edward," she rasped around a throaty moan, and her hand left the rail to sneak under my shirt. I lost track of what I was doing as she caressed my side, dragging fingernails across my ribs and bunching fabric. With an unintentional growl, I grabbed at the cloth and tore it over my head to fall to the floor. I watched as her entranced gaze followed her hand's exploration down my chest. Fingers dug into skin, pressed into muscles, dipped into the spaces between. Fire flashed in her eyes when she reached my navel and lighted through the trail of hair leading to my waistband. Her little fingers struggled between us where we were pressed together, fumbling for the buttons on my jeans.

Quickly, I directed her hand away and back to the handrail. I created more distance between our bodies by taking a half step backward, close enough to keep her ankles hooked around my waist. I wrenched the jean material away from the buttons, so thankful I'd forgone a belt. My thumbs hooked into the waist, catching my underwear too, and shoved the denim past my hips to fall down my legs. My erection, freed, rested between her thighs. I pushed closer to her again, trapped it with our bodies and elicited a delicious exhalation of sweet summer and fresh lust.

"Bella, you are magnificent." I spoke with borrowed air, eager to breathe her into my lungs. She leaned her head to my shoulder, resting her wet mouth on my skin and sending a shiver down my spine. She parted her lips, and her teeth bit sharply into me. I groaned loudly through gritted teeth. I was overwhelmed. Suddenly, I couldn't close enough distance, steal enough breath, swallow enough kisses.

My hands pressed urgently into her hips before they slipped over her thighs. I gripped the skirt of her dress and shifted it out of the way; the fabric brushed rapidly past my cock, causing another shiver to dance down my back. My hand dragged across the almost nonexistent lace shielding her wet heat from me, slid to the sensitive crease inside her leg and tucked under the edge of her panties. I shoved them aside, cupping her pussy in my palm; my fingers pressed gently against the smooth bare skin.

Her mouth found mine, recaptured my lips with her lips; my tongue teased hers. I rubbed her slick soft flesh rhythmically and increased my pressure to match the intensity of our kiss. Two of my fingers pushed into her as I circled her clit with my thumb.

"Ung, Edward . . . please," she hissed as her hands tightened on the rail. I pumped my fingers inside her wet warmth a few more times before removing them to grip my dick. I rubbed the head up and down her slit, swirling circles over her clit. I stopped at her opening and pushed forward with a miniscule amount of pressure. Then I stopped.

I realized what I was about to do, and I froze.

"You need me," Bella whispered pleadingly into my ear.

"I _want _you, Bella," I responded. Full of frustration and confusion and desperation.

"Edward, please. _I_ need _you_." With that simple statement she stripped my tenuous self-control, and I plunged deep into her. Tightness and warmth and heat surrounded my cock, and we moaned together harmonically as I filled her.

I stopped once I was fully encased in her because the feeling was something I'd never experienced before. Never. Not in my whole life. I wanted to savor it.

I was experiencing déjà vu wrapped inside a dream, which was more like a fantasy, yet infinitely better because it was reality. My vivid imaginings were in the wings, offstage in the shadows, at best, compared to the spotlight in which I was standing.

"Edward . . ." it was a whisper on her lips, and her face once again mirrored the feeling in my chest.

I pulled back and thrust into her again. The sensations of Bella were indescribable. I would've thought nothing could compete with having my shaft buried deep inside her, stroking within her. As usual, I was wrong. The noises she emitted in response to my movements, her sounds, which surrounded me, blanketed me, transfigured me, her pleasure made audible, were miraculous things.

Bella's body felt like magic, her gasps, moans, whines cast a spell woven around my body, through my gut, binding in my chest.

I pumped into her with a hard, furious rhythm. I coaxed out everything she had. I gripped her hip, holding it in place against the wall, and used my other hand to squeeze her breast. I firmly rolled her nipple between pinched fingers as her tongue dipped past my lips to lick the hunger from my mouth, take it from my tongue. My fingers brushed her nipple again before trailing down her stomach. They dipped into her navel and tickled the delicate skin over her belly. I smoothed across the bare skin of her mound and slipped my thumb between her lips to find her clit.

If this reality was so much better than my dreams, I had to see her in the throes of an orgasm. I would hear her rapture, her bliss. I would feel her body around mine.

I pulsed my thumb into her clit with the rhythm of my hips, and her gasps became gradually more pronounced. Her lips melted with mine over and over until she finally threw her head back against the cool metal wall. I kissed my way down her chin, her jaw, her throat. I licked up to the sweet soft flesh just below her ear and sucked the lobe into my mouth.

"Please Bella," I rasped. "I need to see you; I need to feel you. Please come for me."

"Oh, I . . . I'm so close . . . harder." She whimpered softly.

I thrust into her, harder still, and my thumb flicked and circled her clit. She used her grip on the handrail for leverage as her hips pushed forward to meet mine.

"Baby, tell me what you need . . . please." I wanted to do anything she asked for. The more she felt the more of her I took into myself.

"I need," she paused as her body started to tense in ripples and waves around mine. "I need _you_ . . . Edward." And with my name sweetening her tongue, echoing in my ears, her back arched. Her legs trembled, her chest hitched with gasped sobs, yet none of that held half a candle's weak light to the music of Bella unraveling around me. Her muscles clenched and throbbed and pulled me deeper, her feet, pressed firmly against my ass, held me still. I slowed my thumb's movements, simply pressing firmly over her clit, but I continued to push my body into hers, attempting to lengthen the beauty I composed all over her face.

After her body relaxed, she continued to meet my hips thrust for thrust. I moved both of my hands to her ass, and pulled her into me forcefully. She began to clench her muscles around my shaft, and in moments, I felt the fire of my orgasm burn up my legs, through my hips and abdomen. My seed pulsed into her, flames timed with my thrusts, and my chest swelled, so full of her.

"Fuck!" I growled against her mouth, panting and heaving with my release. "Bella, you're so beautiful," I whispered, kisses accompanied words.

Her legs tightened around my waist, and her arms wrapped my neck as she clung to me. With my softening erection still buried inside her, her body pressed tightly against me, I felt better than I've ever felt before. I was euphoric and punch-drunk and I felt normal, whole.

She kissed me and kissed me, and I wanted to stay in this elevator with her forever.

Her legs slowly released, moving down my body. I slid out of her as her fingers braided into my hair, pulling me deeper into our kiss. Gradually, we broke apart, rejoining with gentle kisses between breaths. I pulled my pants up quickly, leaving the buttons undone, and I reached carefully for the thin ties of her dress. I knotted an easy bow across her collarbone, fixing one side of the fabric in place. I reached for the other side, and my eyes stayed at the flowers on her shoulder. I looped the second bow slower, interrupting my work with kisses dusted on colorful skin.

Her eyes were fervent as she watched me straighten her clothes, and her teeth bit gingerly into her bottom lip. How she could appear both shy and at ease in the same moment, I didn't know.

I dusted a kiss across her lips again, and a half smile decorated the corners of her mouth.

"I like this dress." I smoothed my hand over the already righted fabric covering her waist and hip.

Her smile turned impish as she looked up at me sheepishly from under fluttering lashes. "I thought you might."

And then the phone rang.

Bella moved to pick it up again, and answered with the same feigned weakness as before. I only partially heard her words as I picked up my shirt and pulled it over my head. I watched her. She was so beautiful, so pure. Pure feeling, pure emotion. She _felt _what she wanted. She did what she felt. I could never be like that.

My chest caved in on itself as I felt the sharp jab of reality puncturing my euphoria. I wasn't different because I devoured her against a wall. I was _exactly_ the same. I took what I wanted, what I'd wanted from the first time I saw her, and still, I had nothing to deliver in return. Surely, I'd hollowed her out. After what I'd acquired from her, what could be left behind?

I couldn't make myself normal for her in recompense. I would have. I didn't know how.

All I knew how to be was what I was. And I was not good for her. Unfortunately, my resolve hadn't been strong enough for me to maintain my distance, and I didn't know how to fix myself. I retreated back to the wall, fingers fruitlessly worked in my hair.

She hung up the phone and whirled to face me. She was smiling and glowing and . . . happy. Her face dropped into a serious mask as soon as she met my eyes, and I knew I hadn't kept the torture from my gaze.

"Bella, I . . ." I searched her eyes pleadingly. I wished I could will understanding into her. I wanted her to _just_ see. See me for what I was. See I wasn't good for her.

Silently, she reached her nimble fingers into my pocket, fishing out my phone. After a few moments of pushing buttons on her part and utter distraught confusion on mine, she tucked it back into the denim of my jeans.

"Edward, I had a feeling this might happen. I'm not going to push you any harder than I already have . . . for now. I understand this isn't simple for you even though I may not clearly understand why. I put my number in your phone, so you can call me when you're ready or if you need to talk." She reached up to hold my face, her thumb stroking my bottom lip, and the thrum on the surface of my skin was static electricity on a cold day. "Please, don't take too long." She smiled imploringly at me, and turned to release the emergency stop button.

I was in shock. The elevator reached the lobby, doors slid, bells pinged. Warm fingers caressed my jaw, lips skimmed my mouth, pulses thrilled my face. I was in shock.

The most amazing woman on the planet stepped out of the elevator, pivoted to wink over her shoulder at me, and walked away.

And I let her.

I let her.

The cumbersome doors closed. I stared. At the spot where she had been on the other side of steel. I stared. Into my own vacant metallic reflection.

The hollow endless void of my eyes reflected back the emptiness in my chest. Where my heart had beat a new rhythm against my ribs. A rhythm percussed its memory into my bones. Into my flesh. Into my soul.

I marginally registered the stillness of the lift as I stood and stared. Numbly, I reached out and touched the seven until it illuminated.

My body pulsed with the reminiscence of her. Once my mirrored cell, which steeped me in the scents of Bella, stopped, I trudged a comatose trail to my door. Slumping to my piano bench, I dropped to the cool black seat. The seat once of comfort and focus. Now it was just cold, slick. A bench.

Her melody wove through my head, swirled into my limbs and infused my hands. I played and played. I poured Bella out of my body, spilled her from my fingertips, bled her onto white and black. I played and played. As the notes mingled, braided, married, their symphony swamped me, replaced the emptiness in my chest. I forced her from me into the keys, into the hammers, into the strings. The cohesion of her, her rhapsody, penetrated, saturated and imbued, welded to my flesh, my very bones.

My eyelids crushed together as the last lingering sounds plucked from the belly of my piano, reverberating inside my chest.

My whole body vibrated with her, tattooed into my muscles, my skin. I felt the impressions of every touch between her skin and mine. Every fingerprint. I smelled the sweetness of every exhalation from her lungs to mine. Every breath. I saw the flood of every capillary coloring her ivory skin against mine. Every blush. I heard the timbre of every utterance of her voice mixed with mine. Every sound. I tasted the flavor of summer from her tongue laced with mine. Every kiss.

Every sigh. Every gaze. Every flavor. Every gasp. Every stare. Every pulse. Every . . . every single moment. Every single thing. _Bella._

I was done. It was complete. Gently, I lowered the fall over the keys. I shifted forward, and rested my forehead against the piano. Cradled by the cool inky black surface, eyes shut against my solitude, I let my mind wander over her. I drifted, swallowed whole by my feelings of completion, need, fear, remorse.

Somewhere in the back of my skull tapped an inkling; an inkling of a dream born of desperation and desire. A dream of a wish come true; a wish for something more. For the first time, I could imagine Bella belonging to me as I already belonged to her. I still couldn't fathom how I'd get there, but I was dizzy with a sense of possibility.

I'd never truly understood the precious intensity of this feeling before now. I'd never known the zealous faith of pure hope.

Hope.

Hope that somehow I could be what she deserved; more than what I was.

_Better_.

A better man.

**BPOV**

I'd harbored a completely irrational hope. Secretly, tucked away in the corner of my mind, I'd wished Edward would come to his senses immediately, sweep me into his arms and dash into the sunset. Cue ridiculous music. Okay, so I wasn't waiting for this to happen, and I wasn't exceptionally disappointed when it didn't. I wasn't. Not really.

My only true goal was to try to get Edward to see me, to talk to me. I wanted him to see he shouldn't just throw away whatever sparked between us in vibrant crackling arcs. It felt so much more intense than anything I'd ever experienced, and if the energy between us was even half as palpable for him, it was worth anything. Everything.

When I'd knocked on his door, I had to fight the bubbling in my stomach, which promised I'd vomit if I didn't leave. I ignored my twisting gut and stared at the numbers on wood. The daze in my head was infused with determination, and I felt every muscle in my body clench and release, over and over. I had been so sure. I'd made a very intentional decision to wear a light summery dress, and I'd composed a speech, a dissertation really, in my head. A discourse for Edward. I'd contemplated drawing my thoughts out on tri-fold poster-board for visual support. I'd entertained making him a mix CD which told him in every chord, every verse, why I couldn't leave him alone. Why he needed me.

My mouth was ready, written over with my confidence, my eloquence, but doubts like nervous impulses stalled my thoughts. The yes's and no's circled and parried; I became a totem of indecision frozen to the spot. My glutted tongue was locked behind apprehensive teeth when Edward opened his door. I said his name because it bubbled from the throbbing pulse in my chest, avoiding the uncertainty flowing from my head. I saw his eyes roll desirously down my body, and I knew I'd made the right decision to come.

Then his face glazed with a combination of fear and rejection and deprivation, and he started to move backward. I grabbed his hand because I was here for a battle, and I would fight before he could retreat. I needed to martial him somewhere he couldn't run, somewhere we were equals. Where we started this struggle, and if my hopes were made real where we might finish it.

He watched me in the hazy silver of the elevator doors, and I couldn't tamper the intensity I knew my eyes held as I stared back. My whole body thrummed at his proximity, and I'd surpassed casual behavior. It took every ounce of my self-control to stay still while we waited. My brain knew I would scare him back into his apartment, but my body just countered with a desire to follow him. Follow him through his door and to his bed and where ever he'd let me. Forever.

Barely managing to question his broken, sad logic in the small, warm steel box, I couldn't find the eloquence on my tongue. Finally, I silenced his fallible convictions with the warmth of my mouth against his, and his body broke the resolve to which his head tried so desperately to cling.

I wanted to tell him everything, give him everything, and my lungs breathed a wordless monologue full of my need, my want, my longing into his lips, his tongue, his heart. His body answered mine with the same ferocity of our last elevator kiss, but this time I wouldn't let him panic and run. Not until his arms and mouth and hips told me everything they had to divulge. I wanted his body to whisper the secrets his mind couldn't. I wanted _him_.

I was overwhelmed by him; pressed into me, around me. My heart throbbed and welled tightly behind my ribs, pulsing out a rhythm to parallel his own. My body felt as if it were fissured open, and as I poured out, he swallowed me down greedily. I'd never been so devoured, consumed, absorbed. I'd never been so whole. His body coveted mine, and his overwhelming desire replaced all of the things in me he took, filled all the aching, empty spaces.

He was a frantic, desperate, voracious lover, and he felt better pressed against me, into me, than any dreams. I pushed all my lust, my pleasure, my love into his skin, his hair, his lips. He made my body tremble, and his face was beautiful in his release. It was painted with sheer joy; all the apprehension and doubt disappeared.

I knew his bliss wouldn't be permanent, and I was ready for him to panic, draw away from me. He would need space, and I would give it to him. I would give him anything. Everything. He needed to know I was okay with his indecision. I was willing to wait.

I practically bounced all the way back to my apartment; the glances and smiles I received told me my face was clearly mirroring the joy which expanded in my chest and saturated all my cells. Lost in memories of his fingers, his skin, I entered my apartment and sighed dreamily into the living room.

By the time I noticed Alice and Jasper cuddled together on the couch, they were both examining me curiously with identically arched eyebrows. Quickly my face fell into an empty mask, and I hoped they would let me disappear into my bedroom. I knew the zeal in my eyes unmasked my false apathy, and Alice made it very clear to me with her eyes I should take a seat and prepare for an inquisition.

I huffed at her with a bit more aggravation than I felt, but I figured I should start out with more resistance to guard against a full emotional disembowelment. I plodded to the chair and flopped down.

"Oh, please," Alice snorted. "You're giddy. Don't try to hide it."

I couldn't help the huge smile, which contorted my face. A quiet giggle escaped my throat. Jasper's eyes darted back and forth in a volley between our faces and his mouth quirked into a lazy smirk. I struggled to straighten my features and keep a more serious expression, but the corners of my mouth still twitched traitorously. Alice continued to stare at me, her eyebrows raised and a question in her smile.

"What?" I demanded while I attempted to appear irritated. The tug in my cheeks just made me giggle again, and I rolled my eyes back with my head to stare at the ceiling.

"Why are you so effervescent? You're bubbling." Alice leveled me with a suspicious stare, and Jasper continued to smirk, watching her with adoring eyes. Her eyes narrowed and she turned to her boyfriend. "Jas, what's today?"

"Mmm? Uh, Monday, Sweetness," he hummed into her ear before he pressed his lips to her cheek langorously, reverently.

"You saw Edward, didn't you?" She snickered through her words, and Jasper's attention was redirected to my face again; he was genuinely curious.

A bloom of heat licked across my cheeks, I pressed my lips into an anxious line and dropped my eyes to the floor.

"Oh!" She pointed at my face like a crazy person. "Spill, Bella," she demanded. I glanced up to see Jasper nod his head violently. _Seriously, what was he? A teenage girl?_

"Don't you have to work Jasper? And why are you home?" I attempted to redirect each with questions, but I knew I'd be lucky to stall.

"Jasper makes his own schedule, and I don't have classes anymore. So?" With one sentence and one word she took my only misdirection away. I briefly considered darting for my bedroom, but Alice was faster than me. She was not above shoving her foot in the door and then using the injury guilt as an added manipulation tool later. I took a deep breath. I conceded.

"I went to see Edward." I stated finally.

"And?" She whirled her hands violently in the air, urging me to proceed.

"And I sort of forced him to talk to me . . ." A smooth low whistle left Jasper's lips, and his eyebrows were knitted, tense, disquieted. Alice's face contrasted the man's who sat next to her. His was scrunched with uncertainty, and hers was open, wide with surprise and disbelief.

"What do you mean _forced_?" Jasper's suspicious tone betrayed he was having a hard time with the marriage of forcing Edward to do anything and my current ebullience. I realized what my answer was a moment before it escaped my mouth, and my cheeks raced ahead of the words, burning red hot.

"I sort of pulled him into the elevator and pushed the emergency stop button," I mumbled to the inside of my cheek. Alice bounced once, unable to contain her exuberance, and a high-pitched peal of laughter burst from her mouth. Jasper's chin dropped so low, I worried his jaw had unhinged.

"You trapped him in an elevator?" I nodded to his overly loud question. "In an _elevator_?!" His volume rose again, but he didn't appear angry, just incredulous. My eyes jumped to Alice with concern, begging her to translate his outburst. She shrugged her shoulders at me, looking equally confused. After another moment of apparent shock, Jasper pulled away from Alice and folded himself at the waist. A gigantic guffaw escaped his lungs and his shoulders vibrated with laughter. I tried to frown disapprovingly at him, so when he looked at me again, he would be able to see my annoyance plainly on my face. The reason for his laughter escaped me though, and I was too interested to be truly offended.

"I don't understand. Why's this so funny to you?" I queried after his chuckles started to subside.

"Edward doesn't even get in elevators unless you're in them. He doesn't like them. Never has." A small whoosh of air sucked into Alice's lungs in response to Jasper's explanation. Her face softened and she studied me.

"See?" She whispered faintly, knowingly, to me, and I wasn't sure exactly which of her assertions I was supposed to be realizing at the moment. _Edward was chock full of issues._ Check. _Edward definitely wasn't perfect_. Check. _Edward was in love with me_. I wanted to know the last affirmation to be true more than anything else I could know, yet I didn't.

"I know about his thing with the elevator, Jas," I sighed. "Although, he didn't tell me until I had already trapped him and attempted to pour out my heart."

"Oh," Alice brought her hand to her chest. "You poured out your heart?" She sighed, and her puppy dog eyes asked as much as her words had. Quite frankly, she was starting to scare me a bit. Jasper's face softened inexplicably as he waited intently for my answer.

"Well, no. I mean not really, anyway." My tongue twisted around my explanation the same way it had twisted around my declarations for Edward. "It was all very ineloquent. I basically ended up telling him he needed me over and over again. In retrospect, I was rather pushy . . ." I groaned and dropped my face into my palms. I was surprised when Jasper's voice was the one to offer me reassurances.

"Actually, Bella, that's a good thing where Edward is concerned." My eyes came up to meet his, and solemnity had replaced the jovial glow in his previous expression. My eyes widened minutely, relieved Edward's best friend was offering honest confirmations I had done the right thing.

"So-o . . . what happened next?" Alice's body buzzed with her excitement.

"Um . . . uh," I stalled, feeling my skin enflame again. "I kissed him." I finished with a whisper. Jasper let out another low whistle, and Alice gasped with anticipation. She knew we had kissed before, so the important part to her was his reaction.

"Then what?" She breathed like a child at a campfire listening to ghost stories.

I stopped. I hesitated because I didn't know how to explain to Alice what had happened next, let alone Jasper. _Why was Jasper still here?_ I didn't want to tell him I'd had sex with his best friend within the last two hours. Really amazing sex with his best friend. The best sex I'd ever had. In an elevator. My eyes slipped out of focus as fresh memories assaulted my body. I felt his skin like an echo, against me, loving me, in me. A shiver tickled through my body and goosebumps puckered my skin. A quiet breath rolled slowly over my tongue and it was infused with the aftertaste of Edward. Rich and warm and biting.

I was brought back to my unfortunate present by my all too perceptive best friend as she gasped more dramatically than a histrionic prima donna in an Italian opera.

"Bella!" There was a long pregnant pause after my name, which tricked me into believing Alice was too shocked to speak. "You slept with him!" It wasn't a question or an accusation. Just a declaration, and the pointing at my face again. As if any of the three of us in the room was unsure to whom she spoke. It was enough to keep my eyes trained on the wall while my face caught fire. Maybe I would burn quickly.

"I didn't _sleep_ with him Alice," I muttered under my breath adolescently, petulantly. I really wanted to _sleep_ with him, nuzzle into his hair, press my soft body against his long hard frame. I wanted to sleep knowing he slept with me; I wanted to dream while he dreamed next to me. She glared at me when I looked back to her face. I cringed.

"Oh? Would you prefer I say you had sex with him? You screwed him? You did the dirty? You _fucked_ him?" She stopped her torture and giggled for a moment, and a knowing expression replaced amusement. "But _he_ fucked _you_, didn't he?"

"Alice! What the hell?" I was too stunned, too embarrassed, to express proper anger in my voice.

"Sorry Sweetie," she looked remorseful. "I didn't mean it that way. I just meant he let go, didn't he? He opened up a little."

I didn't know how to respond, and the immensity of how much of my heart I had invested in his potential reaction overwhelmed me. My eyes welled with my relief and his need. He hadn't rejected me, and I was saturated with my hope now, flooded with it. I nodded silently in response because no words could ever make my answer more poignant than it already was. My eyes moved back to them lazily, and I was surprised to receive a really warm genuine grin from Jasper.

"Hon, what happened . . . after?" Alice asked calmly, obviously trying to curb her excessive enthusiasm.

"Well, I was kind of ready for him to panic, but he didn't, not at first. Then I could see the anxiety in his eyes, and I did what I'd planned to do. I let him know he could have space, and I wasn't going to disappear or push too hard." I shrugged my shoulders. "I gave him my phone number, asked him not to wait too long and left."

I earned my third whistle from Jasper, and Alice let out a whispered, "Wow."

"So, now I guess it's his decision. His timetable. I'll just wait for him to process . . . whatever it is he needs to process," I shrugged and tried to smile. Really I was happy, but the uncertainty still hovering around me cloaked my usually effortless joy.

"No, Bella." I was shocked to hear Jasper's serious tone. "It's good to give Edward a bit of time to process, but you can't just leave him to his own devices indefinitely. No." The last word left his throat with a slight vibrato as he shook his head left to right rapidly.

"I don't want to push him anymore though. He seemed to realize finally I like him and he likes me . . ." I trailed off because I didn't know how to explain what burned and pulsed between us. Something had shifted, solidified, and I wanted him to acknowledge it himself.

"I get what you're sayin' hon," Jasper paused to better organize his thoughts, "Trust me, he already knows how much he likes you. For Edward, that is, most assuredly, not the problem."

I groaned with frustration. "I don't get it. What's the problem, then?"

"Well, I can't really explain it. It's more about Edward himself; there are some things about him you may need to know." He shrugged his shoulders and rolled them back, leaning into the couch again.

"I don't really want to understand him through his best friend. I want him to tell me the things about himself he needs me to know." I knew my infatuation with him was plainly evident by this stage in our conversation, and it made the discussion even more difficult.

"The things _you_ need to know are things Edward might never tell you. Some he doesn't even realize and others are things he's never told me. His mom and I had a few in depth conversations when we were still in college, but if you don't want to talk about it . . ." His eyes opened and closed slowly as his head tilted towards his shoulder and then back up in a dismissive gesture.

"What do you mean 'he doesn't even realize'?" I couldn't help myself, curiosity boiling in my stomach.

Jasper snickered under his breath and then began to unravel Edward for me. "Well, naturally he is very self-conscious. He memorizes every misstep, misspoken word and egregious intonation and abuses his psyche with each perceived error. It's just in his nature. He's apologized to me recently for small off-hand comments he made in our Freshman year of college. His brain doesn't let those memories fade like everyone else's does." He stopped briefly to measure our silent comprehension. "As a young child, he was extremely gifted. His musical talent is savant-like, and he was playing complex pieces in Kindergarten. Now, you take a kid who is brilliantly talented and therefore highly misunderstood amongst his peers, add in his innate social discomfort and his hyper-analytical self-torture, and you have a very shy and unpopular child. His mom told me he was teased mercilessly at school. They told him he was weird, a freak, didn't belong, and he believed them because he'd been slowly convincin' himself it was true anyway.

"Some of that stuff, Edward will talk about, but he doesn't seem to get just how affected he was by all of it. What he has never mentioned to me is his relationship with his father. His mom told me once that she thinks his father did the most damage. He apparently admired his father immensely, but his dad was a perfectionist with a bad temper. He constantly told Edward he was a failure, wasn't good enough." Jasper stopped to take a deep breath, and his eyes met mine with a sad gaze. Alice sat silently, hand pressed over her mouth, eyes swimming with empathy.

"You've probably realized by now that Edward is very non-confrontational, right?" He smiled knowingly at me, and I chuckled lightly under my breath, nodding my head. "Okay, he always has been; he never even defended himself when he was bein' teased or beat up. Now, imagine Edward as a teenager waitin' in the kitchen every evenin' for his father to come home, so he could intercept his rage. He spent every night before dinner pickin' a fight with his dad, so Daddy wouldn't take his shit out on Mama. Every night, so the man he loved could tell him he was a worthless piece of shit. His mom told me her husband wasn't horribly violent, thank God, but he was likely to slap her. That's why Edward started intercedin' in the first place, he took the hits. And remember, Bella, Edward doesn't forget. Any fault you show him, he's already noticed times ten, and by showing him, you're just confirmin' it. He really thinks he doesn't belong in the world sometimes. He believes he's the only person on the planet who feels out of place, inadequate, uncomfortable."

I'd wrapped my arms around my shoulders without realizing it, and a small silent tear escaped my eyelashes. Warm salt spilled for the pain of his past and the loneliness of his present.

"So, Baby Girl," Jasper had picked up Emmett's nickname for me during his many visits to the restaurant, and he used it in this moment lovingly. "Edward thinks he is not good for you, and even more so because of the intensity of his feelin's."

My stomach felt as if I'd swallowed a brick or a lead weight. My veins ached with the angry pulse pushed out by my frantic heart. It was . . . Edward was heartbreaking. I was willing to be patient, but I wasn't sure what good I could do him. It sounded like he needed counseling, but how much would change? One can't un-remember when they've already gone and remembered forever.

He was beautiful to me just the way he was, especially his quirks; they made him beautiful. If he wanted to dart from the elevator every time we kissed, I would be okay with that as long as he was in the elevator, as long as I got to kiss him again and again. Maybe, eventually, I could retreat with him instead of watching him leave. I wanted him as he was. I didn't want to try and change him, to make him feel as if I were another standardized mold into which he couldn't compress himself. I wanted to encompass him in my arms and legs, hands and feet locked, deviant and conformist as my inked promise. I wanted to mold to him.

"What should I do?" I breathed, begged, to Jasper as the heavy weight of needing but not owning, wanting but not having crushed my lungs into my spine.

"Leavin' him alone at first was a good thing." His eyes rolled to the ceiling in thought. "Trouble will be if he goes too long; then you'll know he's just buried in imaginary guilt. I think we should give him a day or so to think it out."

I quirked my eyebrow querulously at his use of the word 'we'. He responded with a pleasant rumbling belly laugh. "Who do you think is gonna drag him out of that damn apartment? You can't keep goin' over there and makin' it so comfortable for him. Next time I'm bringin' him to you."

Jasper nodded definitively once, and it was settled. Apparently, becoming a conspirator was simpler than I would have thought because we were now in cahoots. My stomach roiled with worry and guilt and uncertainty, my mind conjured reasons to weep and ache and crack, yet my heart continued its ostentatiously joyous rhythm. It throbbed with elation and the heady delirium of Edward pressing himself into me against an elevator wall. I redirected my thoughts into memories, my stomach flipping for alternate, more appealing, reasons. I still noticed the echo of his skin, his heat, on mine and I wondered if it would ever fade. I didn't want it to. I yearned to tingle like this every day. Every hour.

I was startled out of my blissful memory of a dream come true by Alice's sharp little fingers snapping in front of my face.

"Sweetheart?" Her eyes betrayed her feelings, and she was truly concerned for me. "You look a little flushed. Are you gonna be okay?" She squeezed her body next to mine on the chair and wrapped me in her lithe arms.

"I'm fine. No, honestly, I'm better than fine. Even if I shouldn't be. I think I'm going to try to sneak in a nap before I have to go to the restaurant." I squeezed her back and she nodded at me, smiling. I stood to walk to my room, and stopped in the kitchen to grab a glass of water.

My room was cool and inviting. The scent of him on my skin flooded my senses in the empty space, and all I could smell was Edward mixed with Bella. I bounced backward onto my bed; I wished his smell would seep into my sheets, and my cheeks tightened with a wide effortless smile. Through all of the nerves, my mind kept racing back to the memories of sweeping arms and sparkling green and blinding heat and tingling peppermint and sunlight through amber and his lips. And Edward.

An hour passed while I dreamed without sleep. Dangerous, potentially subversive dreams. I dreamed of Edward loving me for hours and days and years and lifetimes, feeling his heart beat against the inside of my ribs, and if I wasn't careful, my head would thoughtlessly break my heart. I merged tangible imaginary with inconceivable reality; in the middle, where they met, where they knitted and married, I loved him and he loved me. Dangerous. Unwise to think about. Portentous to wish for. Shaky, delicate hope. My head could wash itself in different pools of my subconscious, but my heart had only one home. It was in the elevator. It was at his door. It was on his piano. It was already beating against his ribs, inside his chest.

I loved him. I loved Edward.

I was crazy for it, because of him.

I was insane and jubilant and sated and warm and starved and in love.

I was imbued, despite my best efforts, with hope.

I was in love with Edward.

* * *

**a/n: I reserved this for the end because I wanted you to dive right in to the beginning of this chapter. Hopefully, now some of you readers who have been wondering about Edward's behavior will understand him a bit more. I've been horrible about review replies lately, but I will eventually reply to them all. This is where I have to thank everyone who tells me they love my story, and everyone who offers any words of support! I love you h00rs so much.**

**Sorry I take so long to update; it is apparently part of my process. This isn't a promise for speedier chapters, just an apology for slow ones. If you want something to read in the mean time, I'm betaing a sweet little fic by hookedontwi called Long Journey Home. Read what she's posted so far and get comfy with it cause I have it on good authority *wink* that it won't always be kittens and rainbows.**

**Now, since the last chapter went up, Rhapsody has been alerted and faved by quite a few people. I can't say how warm and tingly each and every one of those notification emails makes me. If you'd like to make me feel even warmer and tingly-er, send me a review or a PM or tweet to tell me what you think. Good or bad; I want your words.**

**Windycitywonder is my perv and she started a thread for Rhapsody. The link is on my profile. Come play; I post recipes and teasers and we talk about obsessive tendencies. What's not to love? **


	6. Funnel Cake & Forward Progress

**a/n: So if you're still reading this, you're fantabulous, and I'm your h00r 4 life. As you may know, this story is the first attempt I've ever made to write (beside poetry), and I've had my first taste of writer's block. Hope you like.**

**Thanks to Viola Cornuta for making my words better and Windycitywonder for pre-reading and general fuckawesomeness. Operation more WIN, less FAIL accomplished something.**

**disclaimer: These characters aren't mine. The plot and the dog are.  
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**EPOV**

I sat.

And sat.

The line where light met shadow crept slowly across my wall.

Eventually I remembered something from the whirlwind of a late morning I had and dug my hand into my pocket, fishing for my phone. My fingers fumbled and stuttered on the buttons as I scrolled through my contact list. I spent a panicked minute looking for a last name I wasn't sure I remembered.

Swan.

Swan.

No Swan.

She _hadn't_ put her number in my phone.

My shoulders slumped in sadness. I wasn't surprised, just disappointed. I continued scrolling through my meager contact list one person at a time. I hadn't spoken to most of these people in at least six months. I contemplated deleting them all. Jasper's name, filed under Whitlock at the end of the list, reminded me there were some people I cared to know. Some people who cared to know me. My address book scrolled around to the beginning, and after the one name filed under A, there it was.

The most beautiful name. Ever.

Bella.

Just Bella.

She must've thought I might have forgotten her last name.

Silly, beautiful, amazing girl. She was written on my soul whether I wanted her there or not. My subconscious had already memorized everything about her.

I could draw her skin in a map of freckles or write her eyes in haiku.

I composed her breaths across my skin into chords of warmth and grace and sweet.

And her.

I felt another unfamiliar swell in my chest, and I moved to push the button. I wanted to call her. I had a vision of a hot phone pressed to my ear, radiating against my cheek, as I joked, wooed, teased. She laughed, sighed, giggled. I heard her smile through the phone, and my whole body flushed hotter than my heated ear and cheek.

My skin was resting against the button, and reality smacked me across the face, unkindly.

I was not funny nor smooth nor sweet. I did not woo. I did awkward silences and painful stammers. She would not be amused, she would be disenchanted. Which I knew would happen anyway, but I didn't want to hurl myself head first into her letdown.

I couldn't _not_ call her. After the elevator, I wanted . . . constant contact.

I wanted to feel myself wrapped in her warm slickness, and if that wasn't possible, I wanted to touch her soft ivory skin.

If not that, then near enough to taste her breath in the air.

And if nothing else, I wanted her voice.

I could call and stick to questions, so she would talk to me.

The light in my apartment shifted to darker and deeper shades of gray, and I sat, finger just pressed to the button. Occasionally, the screen on my phone would time out. I religiously pushed a button every time to return it to life. When I finally realized how late it was, I bolted upright from the bench.

Skittering tingles pulsed down my legs; I'd been still for too long.

I gave her name one last glance and set the phone on the piano.

I would call her.

I would.

First I had to clean the kitchen and maybe the bathroom, and there was definitely some laundry I needed to do.

And then, then I would call Bella.

I moved quickly around the room, choosing good music for cleaning and changing my clothes.

Near dawn, after hours of frantic cleaning, even by my standards, and possible brain damage from unventilated, small spaces filled with harsh chemicals, I'd collapsed onto my couch.

I heard the rattle against the top of the piano before my brain was fully awake. My eyelids were sticky and gritty at the same time, so I kept them closed. The pillow under my face didn't feel right as I rubbed my cheek into the fabric. I stretched my body out, amused I was on my stomach; I always woke up on my back. As my limbs stretched out, I felt around and realized I was on my couch.

I must have been delirious last night . . . this morning, whatever.

I recalled what had woken me in the first place and stiffly shifted my body off the cushions. Staggering robotically towards my piano, I worked to open my eyes. The phone was where I'd left it, and I looked at the screen curiously.

For the first time in longer than I could remember, the idea of someone calling me wasn't partnered with dread. I knew it wasn't likely Bella had my number, but what if she did? The now familiar swell pushed against my ribs and insinuated itself in my stomach. My shoulders dropped as I saw the name on the screen, marking my missed call. Sighing, I redialed.

"Edward?" His voice sounded pleasantly surprised. Admittedly, I usually avoided him as if he were a bubonic rat.

"Hey man. You called?" I couldn't help the smile smeared across my face, and I was sure he heard it too.

"Uh . . . yeah . . . um, I was calling to check on you, but I don't really know what to say now," he stammered. Obviously, he'd been caught off guard by my chipper tone.

"I'm okay, I guess." As soon as I started to reply, I realized why I was so happy. I quickly redirected by asking him about his new girlfriend. "So, how's Alice?" He couldn't resist talking about her.

"She's good . . ." He paused. "Have you seen Bella lately?" His voice pitched up suspiciously, and my gut started a threatening swirl.

"Well . . . I, uh, yeah. I saw her yesterday." I gripped my hair nervously with my free hand. "Why?"

"Oh, no reason. Have you talked to her since?" His voice was now trapped in an unnaturally high register.

I groaned despondently. "Oh my God. She told you?" The words were almost a whisper, but I heard them as if I were listening at a wooden door with a glass tumbler. Muffled and distant.

A nervous chuckle hiccuped through the phone at me, and then Jasper fell too silent for too long.

"Seriously, Jas?!"

"Look, Edward, don't be mad. Bella didn't exactly tell us . . . Alice has some sort of witchy voodoo magical powers, and she just knows this sort of shit. She took one look at Bella and just blurted it out." He had entirely too much pride warming his voice as I processed the utter embarrassment which infused me at the thought of Bella, Alice and Jasper discussing my lack of sexual prowess over coffee.

Well, Bella would be drinking tea. Probably Earl Gray. I could remember the citrusy smell of Bergamot blending with her scent. Summer and waterfalls and sunshine.

And light.

"Edward?" I was swimming in a memory of her breath and skin dissolving truths into my flesh. My soul. My heart.

"EDWARD?"

"I'm here Jas. Sorry, I'm here." I let a gust of air flow out of my chest across the receiver, hoping it would be amplified for him. I wanted to turn my confusion into an audible sound. I wanted it to resonate and echo around me like the somatic thrum of a giant bell ringing through my muscles, my bones.

I wanted her. I wanted her so badly I ached. I knew now I couldn't ignore the pull I felt towards her, but I still wasn't sure what I could do about it.

The last six months hadn't changed. I hadn't changed.

But things, _things_ had changed.

"I . . . I don't know what to do." My voice was desperate and needy and begging. I needed someone to tell me. Tell me what happened next. Tell me because I didn't know where to begin.

"Well, man, you should probably start by calling her. You do have her number don't you?" Jasper, as always, took me seriously when others would have laughed or mocked. Probably both.

"Yeah. Yeah, she put it in my phone under Bella." I didn't know why I felt the need to mention that. I was a child in my own head. Random phrases I'd heard linking together without thought. This time Jasper did laugh lightly.

"Her last name is Swan. That must be driving you nuts." His breath was airy with his chuckles, but it wasn't hurtful. The sound was optimistic and infusing. I huffed at him anyway. It was to be expected.

"I know her last name. Thank you," I snapped without anger. He was right, and I was predictable. After a moment of silence on my part and breath hitched with humor on his, I conceded some of the amusement in my quirky predictability and laughed with him.

"Really though, Edward, you need to call her. It was pretty brave of her not to push you for something. Soon you're gonna have to give her something back. She's not as carefree and confident as she seems." I could hear the genuine concern in Jasper's tone, and in a moment of self-effacing insight so unlike me, I realized he had a gift for compassion, empathy. He could accept a person as-is, know their weaknesses and worries, and love them for it. In that moment I understood my best friend.

I didn't, however, understand what he wanted me to do.

"I know I should call her. I just don't know what happens after she answers the phone. Even if she doesn't answer . . . ." My whole body shuddered at the thought. "What if I have to leave a message? Oh my God!"

"Dude. Calm down," Jasper interrupted. "Just start out by getting to know her. I don't know, ask her questions."

I scoffed. "You think I haven't thought of that? All I've ever done is ask her questions. I don't know what else to do."

"Have you tried telling her about yourself? Why not try that?" He chuckled lightly again.

The suggestion alone added a new nauseating swish to my gut; the room tilted. " I don't know if I can. I sort of feel like I'm going to pass out." I choked through a strangling constriction in my throat.

"I'll be there in a few. Take a shower, and try to calm the fuck down." With that, he hung up.

I set the phone down and took his advice. My muscles were stiff, rigid from sleeping anxiously. The steam helped me slow my hysterical breathing, the hot water dissolving tense ache into a residual soreness. My skin burned with a flush; heat which paled in comparison to Bella's skin on mine, my skin in her. Belatedly, I regretted washing her from me, scalding away a memory I couldn't stand to lose. The lingering scents of summer and sweetness dissolved in the soapy water circling my drain while I was enveloped in the wistfully familiar smell of sandalwood. I finally turned the water off when my fingers puckered. After the water was only a drippy reminder, I watched the drops slowly roll down the tile. Still drops started to slide slowly, merge with others, gain momentum. Eventually they were all running recklessly together, recklessly down.

When a cold shiver raised the hair on my arms, I reached for a towel to wipe away the wet. I quickly pulled on jeans and a t-shirt and padded lazily down the hall on bare feet.

I wasn't surprised to see Jasper lounging on the couch, but I was surprised I wasn't bothered this time by his misuse of the key I'd given him. He tilted his head to me, smirking.

"Well don't you look fresh and pretty? Go put on some shoes; we're leaving." It wasn't a question; I was beyond argument. A full, comfortable feeling settled low in my stomach, stilling the flip-flops which had been nearly constant since the day before. Having a friend there, not being alone, was more relieving than I would have guessed. I was so desperate to keep the calm stability in my gut, so desperate to have my friend in that moment, I would do whatever he asked. I needed answers and I hoped, prayed Jasper could help me find them.

When I met him at the door, he clapped my shoulder with a bolstering hand, and his cheerful grin was contagious.

"Where are we going?" I asked through my smile. "Somewhere we can talk for a minute, I hope. I really need some advice."

"I gave you advice, Edward." He smiled infuriatingly. Not ready to start an argument or turn away company I so needed, I let his annoying easiness slide.

"Okay, then where are we going?"

"Don't worry about it. Just this once can you come along for the ride?"

I thought about it. Really thought about it. I wasn't sure if I could. I knew his question wasn't rhetorical as much as I knew he wasn't sure what I'd say. I thought about turning around and flopping on the couch. I thought about three hours from now when I would sit staring at my phone again, still too afraid, too unsure to dial her name. Bella, just Bella.

I thought about it.

The thought of being alone again, not having the new comfort I found in my friendship, not knowing how to progress anything with her . . .

The memory of dizzying loneliness, nauseating uncertainty propelled me blindly into whatever he had planned.

We stepped into the elevator.

I twitched and fidgeted.

We got into Jasper's car.

I huffed and sighed.

I shoved my fingers into my hair, twisted, pulled.

Jasper gave me a sidelong glance under a raised eyebrow.

"We're going to get something to eat. Calm down." His words were innocuous, neutral, but his sly smirk was a contradiction.

I alternated sucking in tight gasps of air, holding them deep until my chest burned, and pulling at my hair in handfuls. I could feel Jasper's glances, his grin; it only made me more uneasy.

If I'd taken a moment, a second, to consider Jasper's new favorite restaurant of late, I would have entered a full blown panic attack immediately. As it was, I felt uncommonly calm when we parked in front of The Garlic Clove. He turned slowly to face me, looking prepared to protect his face in the event of my attack.

"Maybe talking to her in person will be easier?" He shrugged.

"I highly doubt it. Maybe she's not here." I let my hopes inflate to the size of my cowardice until I saw the guilty gleam in Jasper's eye. "Of course she's here. Of course you would know that. And _of course_ this is intentional. Thanks. You know, the underside of this bus is quite spacious. Maybe you can share it with me sometime soon." I scowled juvenilely.

"Oh stop it. You needed a shove. You always need a shove, and I'll not have you blowing that lovable girl off with not even a word because you lack bravery." He shoved my arm solidly, bumping me into the car door, to emphasize his feelings about the matter.

"So now I'm a coward?" I asked through narrowed eyes.

"You know you are."

"And you're just going to decide what's best for me?"

"You know I will, _but_ only until you stop fighting what you want."

I couldn't argue with him, couldn't deny how much I wanted her. He knew it. Jasper always knew when it came to me.

We went inside and were seated quickly. Alice sauntered over to our table with nervous glances for me and eyes which spoke volumes for Jas. She immediately sat on his lap, tousling his hair.

"Well, hello darlin'," I could tell it was going to be thick tonight, but then I noticed Alice's frown.

"Jasper, dear," she started patiently, "I know you are, in fact, Southern, but I also know you don't drop those 'g's quite as much when I'm not around. You don't have to make an effort to speak around me. If I want the cowboy, I'll pull him out of you . . . most likely, in the bedroom." She winked at me, and I was sure I was tomato red or puce green, nausea warring with embarrassment. "Oh, and honey, if you aren't going to call me Sweetness, then Alice will do just fine."

I tried my very hardest, knowing Jasper had intentionally brought me here, not to laugh. I failed miserably. Jasper developed a sheepish grin and murmured something into her ear. The comfortable cuteness was reaching toxic levels and demonstrating for me all of the ways I failed with Bella. Even the effort I'd put forth was backward, convoluted, and I could only imagine how confused I'd left her. I felt horrible. I stood abruptly, scraping my chair across the floor, and headed for the restroom.

"Edward, what do you want to eat?" Alice asked as I escaped. "The usual?" I nodded to her without turning to face her though I had only been here once and had no idea what the usual might be.

I closed my eyes as I stumbled down the empty hall toward what would normally be my biggest fear but now offered a safe haven. A public restroom. I collided with her scent before my body slammed into hers, but I had no time to stop myself. I didn't want to either.

God she was warm.

A little too late for necessity, my hands groped forward to avoid knocking her backward. I waited for a reaction from her, surprise or an exclamation, but nothing. My palms burned with suffusing heat, tingling in throbs and waves, a sensation I was half positive I'd created psychosomatically. A shiver danced down my spine, cold where I had once been comfortable, her heat showing my body what it could be. Should be.

Hesitantly, I cracked my eyes open to realize she was watching me, patiently.

"Edward." As usual, she said it with intention, and her lips began to turn up into a smile before she hastily rearranged her features into a serious mask. I felt my brows knit with confusion. What had I done to her that she was uncomfortable smiling at me? Why did I have to do everything wrong?

With trembling fingers I reached out, brushing the tips down her cheek, ghosting my thumb over her taut bottom lip. Her face relaxed under my skin, and my chest cracked with unfamiliar fullness as it seemed to do only for her. My touch softened her lip, inspired her eyelids to slip closed as she tipped her cheek toward my hand.

A giddy sound chortled out of my throat before I could mask it, suppress it. I squeezed my eyes tight, embarrassment flooding superfluous heat through my limbs, my face, my fingers. A low giggle swirled out and around me, tickling my ears with a sound to match the delicious scent permeating the air surrounding her.

"Edward?" She whispered it as if she would interrupt my thoughts.

I opened my eyes abruptly, finding hers and searching for something . . . anything. I had no idea what I was doing here besides humiliating myself. I watched her for a moment longer, frustration building tightly inside the pit of my stomach, behind my vision.

"_Fuck me_," I whispered, palming my face, hiding my eyes. "Let's talk."

Her eyebrows quirked with curiosity but also a hint of challenge.

"Sorry, what I meant was, can we talk?" This was going to be a disaster of epic proportions. I couldn't even talk to her _about_ talking without screwing it up.

"Sure, come on." The answer was all smiles and twinkles and warm brown and flushed pink, and for a moment, I thought maybe I could do this. Do whatever would keep the glow on her face.

She was a few steps ahead of me, and I rushed to catch up, surely failing to join the coming conversation would not maintain the glow, the smiles. We passed through a door into an office featuring not quite enough space for the small couch which faced the desk. I walked directly into her as she turned to close the door behind me. Her effervescent giggle filled the space around me again and the intensity of her smiles, her flush, her warmth, her scent, her sound in this small enclosure was overwhelming. I was glad I hadn't eaten yet when my nerves began to conspire with the fullness in my chest.

"Do you typically collide with everything?" Her hands gripped my elbows firmly and she walked me backward. "I mean, _I_ do. Collide with everything." My calves stopped at the couch, and I moved to sit as the pressure of her hands told me that was what she wanted. "We could be dangerous if we share that problem . . . I mean, if we're together, we could be hazardous . . ." She trailed off, her eyes piercing the floor. "Not that I'm assuming we're, I mean, not that we'll be . . ." I was tempted to let her struggle; she was beautiful. All nerves and flush and teeth cutting into lip.

"Shhh." I grabbed her hand, tugging her to the cushion beside me. Her hand tucked further into mine, and I kept it. "Bella, I think we need to talk about . . . this." The word was extremely inadequate.

"Yes. We do." Her tone was tight, and my gut clenched, bracing for what might come, what she had to say. "I don't know where to start though." She smiled with apology and reassurance.

There were so many things I needed to tell her, to say. So many swirls of thoughts I'd visited and revisited and worried. I opened my mouth to speak. Nothing came out. I didn't know where to start either. So I went with what was comfortable, what I'd done before.

"What do you want with me Bella?" I wasn't sure how she would comprehend my question. I hoped her response would help me understand what to address next.

"I'm not quite sure, honestly." Frustration clouded her eyes, and I was caught off guard as disappointment twisted my face. I hadn't realized how much I needed her to want me. Want me as I wanted her, with abandon and absurdity. Her face softened, her hand squeezing my fingers gently. "Right now, I want _you_ Edward. I just don't know what to ask for. I feel as if you are so familiar yet completely alien to me. I feel like I will ask for things I shouldn't want yet, like I will skip important steps."

"I can't deny how much I want you, want to be with you, but I was serious when I told you I wasn't good for you and . . . and I guess I don't know how to reconcile that for myself." It was the truth. I felt split down the middle, my need for her and my need to give her better than me at war.

Her eyes hardened minutely. She studied my face. I waited. She bit her lip again. Her thoughts painted her features in twitches and quirks. I waited.

"Would you be able to tell me _why_ you don't think you are good for me?" Her words were timid, her eyes pleading. She had no expectations. She waited. I thought about what I could tell her. She waited. Her permissiveness motivated me to speak.

"I told you yesterday. I watched you." I looked past her eyes, disgusted by my omissions.

"I sat outside your door," She blurted hastily.

"What?" How could she even think stopping in my hall at some point was similar to what I'd been doing? "I don't think you understand. I _watched_ you . . . a lot. I sort of know your schedule . . ." I trailed into a barely audible whisper, the words catching my breath in fearful anticipation.

"I don't care about that. I would have been disappointed if I hadn't seen you every time I walked Jake." She blushed fast and red, and I imagined how hot the skin of her cheeks would feel under my lips.

"You don't understand," I growled quietly back, speaking to my palms as my face rested in my hands, my elbows on my knees.

"Then, explain it."

Squinting, my tongue froze, stuck in my mouth. The uneasy silence, for once in my life, was painful. The memories of her words and laugh mocked me with their comfort.

"Edward." I jumped at her sharpness. "Please look at me."

Breathing her in, I allowed my eyes to settle on hers. Golden brown painted with questions and clouded with exasperation. I drew in another slow, deep breath, attempting to steal confidence from the emptiness of invisible particles. The scents of summer and citrus and sunlight filled my chest to cracking with her, and though I felt no more confident, I knew I needed to keep this feeling, savor it tucked inside my chest. Anything she wanted from me, I would give if it awarded me with her presence.

"I watched you . . . and I think about you. _Often_." Her mouth opened to dismiss my words, but I squeezed her hand, begging for a moment to continue. A moment to hang myself with the truth of my depravity. She deserved better than me, and the only way she would believe me was through my honest disclosure. I wanted her to hate me for it, be disgusted, stop knocking on my door. I wanted her to want me anyway, tell me it didn't matter, never mattered. I sucked in a drowning breath and willed myself not to pass out. "When I think about you, when I _imagine_ you, it's your body too."

"Okay, well, I think you're really attractive too, _and_ I think about you often." she grew impossibly rosier. She struggled for a serious expression, but a smirk tickled the corner of her lips.

"Bella, I'm serious. I imagined you doing things . . . with me."

"What sorts of things?" She whispered hesitantly, nervously. And here it was. I would have to spill out my feeble pride at her feet, but she would see. She would see my flaws, my defects, all the horrible gaping fissures where other men were smooth, easy.

"I've im-imagined your hands, your mouth on me . . . I've imagined my fingers on . . . in you," I tapered off in a tiny whisper.

"Why is that wrong?"

My drifting gaze shot back to hers, shocked.

"Why is that wrong, Edward?" she asked again.

"I did things." This was my line, my limit. I couldn't explain to her what those thoughts did to my body. My skin recoiled from the mere idea of describing what my hands did in her proxy.

My stomach threatened to revolt, just as repulsed as I was with myself. No overbearing morality kept me from doing the things I'd done, but now I was too much of a coward to admit it to her. For her.

Her soft, curious eyes watched me patiently, and I felt the heat of my shame ignite. Uncomfortable flames glutted my limbs, my chest. And I burned. And burned. I burned until the sting of my guilt numbed along with every other nerve, and she had to know.

I met her eyes with mine, exuding all the confidence I didn't have, and I could only imagine the conflict she saw therein. Pleading. Half pleading for her hatred, harsh and final censure. Half pleading for her forgiveness, sweet and gentle absolution.

"Please?" It was a whisper, echoing silently in waves from her mouth, balmy air which tickled and soothed my burning skin, drawing me into her. Selfishly, I slid forward. Barely brushing them at first, I grazed her lips with mine. She leaned into me, and I was lost. In her fresh summer scent underlined with hints of warm tea and bergamot. In the crush of a willing kiss. In soft and pink. In eyes closed peacefully. In sooty lashes. In tiny flutters. I was lost. I let myself be lost. Lost in her.

I let myself because I was selfish. Because I wanted more and more and always more of her. Because she tasted like a happiness I'd never had. I let myself because I might not get to let myself with her again.

Finally, when I knew I'd taken too much, too much for what I had to say, I left my heart in her lap as I leaned away from her. My heart which fell through the hole she made in my chest. The space into which I stole her.

"Bella, for over seven months, I've watched you. I've sought you out just to be near you. To see you, to smell you, feel the warmth from your body. And every time, I went home and touched myself while wishing they were your hands, your mouth on me." Her eyes kept mine. Pretty, innocent eyes shifting by milliseconds with my revelation. I looked for fear. I wanted it because, fuck, if she shouldn't be afraid of someone who said what I'd just said to her.

Her indecipherable features shifted and melded until all I saw was resolution coloring her face, staining her eyes. She looked sick with it, her skin paling. Her chest puffed fuller than it seemed it should with a long loud inhale, and for one moment, I saw the fear I looked for, wanted, dreaded, but then it was gone just as quickly.

"I have something to tell you," she paused as if the words were stuck like peanut butter to the back of her throat, the roof of her mouth. Her eyes begged for understanding, as if she would have anything less from me, as if she deserved anything less, and her cheeks washed with color again. I knew I had done a poor job hiding my curiosity when the corners of her mouth tipped up into a miniscule grin. "I sat outside your door a lot." A barely audible whisper followed, as her flush deepened, "Every Monday, Wednesday and Friday actually."

I felt my mouth drop open in disbelief. My attempts to compose my face and speak at once melded to create a wagging jaw and uncomfortable, strangled vowel sounds. "You . . . you . . . for how long?"

"For over seven months, Edward." She didn't whisper or blush or avert her eyes. Instead, clear, warm, swimming brown punctured some of my doubt. And she smiled.

She smiled.

"I listened to you play." Her smile grew bigger. Impossibly brighter. "It was so beautiful . . ." Then in a whisper of a hint of a breath, "_You_ are so beautiful."

From me, nothing but sounds. Nothing intelligible in any way. There were thoughts forming and racing miles in seconds, but something stalled them before they could stain my tongue, steal out with my breath. So, indecipherable sounds.

She pressed her fingers lightly into my lips to stall my noise.

"Listen, Edward, I don't really know what I want here, with you. To be completely honest, the way I feel, it's . . . overwhelming. It's scary." She paused for a long moment which tensed up inside my chest, squeezing an uneven rhythm out of my heart. "I feel like I don't really know you at all, but I still want everything now. I know that's not likely to turn out well. I just don't know . . . I don't know," she stopped, yet I knew she was no where near done.

I saw uncertainty in the slant of her eyebrows, the wrinkles cleaving the bridge of her nose, teeth cutting into her soft lip, and I saw myself. For once in my life, I was sure I knew what someone else was thinking, sure I shared an emotion, a reaction, with another person.

No.

Not just another person.

Her.

I shared something with _her_.

I was too familiar with that uncertainty. I knew what it felt like to not trust myself. I knew what the confusion of a war between desires and worries could do to a soul. For a tiny moment I was warm and fuzzy and light and more content than I'd ever felt, because I shared something with her. And then . . . then, I wasn't.

I didn't want to share this with her.

Not _this_.

She couldn't feel the way I did. She couldn't. I wouldn't let her.

"I'll be what ever you want." After moments of strange, familiar silence, I blurted it at her, spat out the words as if they were at risk of being interrupted or never heard. "What I mean is, if you tell me to go away, I'll try my hardest to leave you alone. If you want my friendship, you have it; it's already yours. Whatever you need to not feel overwhelmed or scared . . . I'll try."

Pride surged through me as a brilliant smile reformed on her face, and I had never seen someone who belonged to a smile more than she did. With her upturned mouth and sparkling, slightly squinted eyes came the delicious rosy flush of embarrassment, happiness, energy.

"Thanks," she smirked at me innocently, seductively. "Maybe we can spend some time trying to get to know each other?" It was a question, like you'd ask if I hadn't just said I was yours, like she didn't understand how completely she owned me.

I'd been split in half, right down the middle, because of her. I'd wanted so desperately and denied. Or at least tried to. I had been of two minds. I couldn't trust myself. And somewhere tiny and small and dark and hopefully fleeting, she felt the same as I did. In a small way, I already knew her heart; in a small way, I finally knew my own.

And she didn't want me to go away. She wanted to know me. I stared at her in disbelieving adoration for wanting me in any form. I stared at her in amused exasperation for needing to question my proffered friendship.

Then I realized, mostly, I was just staring at her.

"Of course we can, Bella. Like friends, right?"

"Or actual friends, even." She smiled innocuously at me, and I chuckled. "You should laugh more often. It suits you, and I don't know if I've ever heard you laugh."

Despite the absolute, dismal verity in her words, despite myself, I laughed harder.

"I'll work on that just for you. I can't make any promises," my cheeks twitched with masked mirth, "But I'll try. Now, about this friend business, can we, maybe, get a coffee tomorrow?"

"If I say yes, you're going to think I don't have any friends," she teased.

"You have _friends_?"

"Are you actually teasing me, Mr. Cullen?" I fought back a quiet growl which threatened to break from my chest. If we were going to be friends, I'd have to work on those reactions. Or she would _have_ to stop calling me Mr. Cullen, if nothing else.

Her soft, playful eyes seemed to twinkle knowingly for a moment, and then she said, "Yes."

I had an appointment with her.

I had a friend meeting with her.

A friend date . . . .

Fuck it.

I had a date with Bella Swan.

**BPOV**

I sat on the overly large couch in the small space of the office for I don't even know how long after Edward and I said goodbye. He had finally reached a point, through all of his idiosyncrasies, of compromise. I felt as if, just maybe, he wouldn't feel the urge to run away from me anymore, even if he didn't move forward, I could work with stasis. I could figure out all of the unfamiliar and frightening and delicious and strange feelings he ignited in me. I could try to stop being scared. I didn't want to be. Not of him.

A pleasant burn kindled in my cheeks, for once not associated with a rush of blood and racing heartbeat. My face was tightened with a smile I hadn't worn for too long. The muscles begrudged the faded familiarity, but I appreciated the slight pain even more than the smile. An ache to remind me just how much Edward affected me deep down in a dark, primordial place whether I wanted him to or not. Affected my happiness. But also so I wouldn't forget the bittersweet twinge; smiling never hurt before. The darkness and confusion and self doubt were not without fees; I had to work for that free happiness, had to work like I wanted it, hold it to keep it. I needed to remember this so much; not just for me, for Edward.

Cheeks and jaws still aflame, I exited the office with a small swirl. A light, tinkling laugh chased down the hall towards me, and my eyes cut quickly to discover my observer. Attempting a scowl, I squinted towards the giggler, but the rest of my face remained painted with fiery grin. Alice.

Her eyebrow, the left always, drew up her forehead, very slowly and with much control. The smirk on her face was a perfect accessory to complete the preternatural expression she wore. Not flowing and ethereal and fairy godmother-like; more impish and meddling and elf-like. Her arms were crossed, and her shoulder pressed into the wall where she leaned.

"What?" I attempted a snarl and achieved a curious hiccup-snort-bark.

"They're gone." It was sing-song-y. She was _singing_.

"Okay, thanks for the update."

Walking as casually as possible, I moved to head back out to the dining room floor. Surprisingly, she watched me with shock as I passed her, but she let me pass her. Amazing. I felt her pivot to follow me immediately and picked up my pace.

"Heyyy! Bella, no fair! I'm not being pushy," she pitched up an octave higher than her usual, which was very high.

"And I appreciate that very much."

"But if I'm not pushy, you _have_ to share! That's how it works . . ." muttering towards the end, Alice pushed. I stifled a laugh for a second, and then it tumbled out to highlight that grin I'd been sporting. I laughed for a long time, longer than necessary, but it felt amazing. After I calmed my giggling and breathing and, if I'm being honest, snorting, I leaned towards Alice's tiny, animated face.

"We're having coffee tomorrow."

"That's it? You're so backwards. Let me know when you have something good to dish." She looked so disappointed, and I felt sort of bad.

"We kissed. With tongue!" I stage whispered at her before running to the kitchen to avoid any more alone interrogation time. It was silly and childish, I knew, but Alice always loved that sort of thing. And I was feeling silly and . . . well, maybe not childish, but youthful and free and genuinely happy. Giddy happy.

Nervous flutters in my belly, cold nose, chapped cheeks, watery eyes on a cold night at a fair giddy happy. With a warm funnel-cake.

At the end of the night, comfy feelings of hope and anticipation followed me home, not before Emmett danced around the room with me locked into a tight hug because "I looked too happy, and that shit was catching," and cocooned me into my bed. I couldn't sleep for as long as my mind chased Edward around the dark corners of my room, and when I finally did, my dreams took up where my waking thoughts left off. It played on a loop for me, this game of tag or catch or hide and seek; I always chased.

Still swollen with warm, fuzzy tickles, I awoke with a distinct comfort. One I had never really felt, definitely not for months, and I was pleased with the delayed memory of my dreams. Unlike most which started out strong and clear and pungent, only to leave a mild sweet tinge on my tongue with no memory of what I had eaten, these tasted more amorphous than water, flavorless air. Only a mood to suggest an untasted flavor. As I wiped the sticky sweet sleep from my eyes, and my room came into focus, so did my dreams. So did Edward. So did one recurring thing. An important thing.

My dreams were all seeking and chasing and running and needing and finding and . . . catching. Catching him, every time, catching Edward. Every loop, every replay ended the same way, and the clarity, the sweetness of powdered sugar and warm funnel cake on my tongue, a taste I could identify, added a pleasant and reassuring weight to the burning flutters in my belly.

I still had to walk Jake today, so I wasn't sure exactly how we were going to meet. We hadn't even thought to sort out those details. He seemed like such a magnetic element in my world I didn't even think to ask. If he weren't in the elevator, which I swiftly realized might be the case because it had been weeks since the last time, I could always go knock on his door. Again.

God, I wanted him to be in the elevator.

I tried not to ignore Mike's innocuous attempts at banter as he smiled and chattered. I tried not to rush my routine with Jake as he slobbered and licked. I'm pretty sure I failed.

After the rush and anxiousness and anticipation, I found my finger hesitating at the elevator.

What if he weren't there.

I needed him to be there.

I needed that effort from him.

Finally, because Jake wouldn't tolerate sitting in the hallway much longer, I was forced to cross my fingers and push the button. Once inside the overly warm steel box, I was flooded with daydreams and memories; I may have held my breath. I may have said a prayer. I needed the doors to open on the seventh floor.

And they did.

And he was there. And he was stepping into the tiny space. And he was smiling, big and glowy and beautiful. And he was there.

And I was, I was . . . near tears I was so damn happy.

Those flutters and embers and tickles bubbled up and out and away but not really. They did all those things, but they didn't leave me behind; they grew like effervescent fizzies of vinegar and baking soda flowing out of a science project volcano. They overflowed. I overflowed. "You came." I didn't mean for that to overflow.

He ducked his head and from shimmering green, under eyelashes, looked at me sincerely. "We're having coffee."

It wasn't a reminder; it was sweet and unsure and exactly what I needed. Him. Here.

"I know, but I thought maybe you'd wait for me to knock on your door." I rushed the words. Suddenly they felt like the wrong ones to say.

"I told you I would try; I meant it." Earnest eyes. Peach cheeks. Soft smile.

Full body shiver.

"I was sort of wondering if . . . hoping I could walk Jake with you?" A curious twist of his mouth, eyebrows knitting over the bridge of his nose, nervous fingers fumbling. I watched the question write itself all over his body. In every tweak of fabric and twitch of eyelids and forcefully expelled huff, I read his anticipation.

Realizing I'd cruelly left him wondering, waiting too long, I smiled big and bright and genuine and told him, "Of course, anytime, always."

We spent most of the next forty minutes walking through the park across the street as Jake loped circles around us, taunting us with his fetching stick until we wrenched it away and threw it again.

We talked, but not too much. Generally, I was talkative but not chatty, and we just enjoyed the company and the random questions formed of silence. I asked him simple things I'd wondered and obsessed over for longer than I'd ever care to admit. Ever. And I was curious if his seemingly spontaneous questions, like mine, weren't spontaneous at all.

Eventually, we decided to walk to the coffee shop and sit outside with Jake to enjoy the beautiful weather. I tied the giant dog as securely as possible to the hitching post outside, and we walked into the store. Edward turned to me with a sweet smile but a determined gleam in his eye.

"What would you like, Bella?" He asked with more formality than would seem normal, and if I hadn't understood his purpose, I would have been a bit uncomfortable.

"You don't have to buy mine."

"Funny, I don't remember asking if I could," he retorted with a raised brow which told me he was still waiting for an answer to the original question. Redirecting my attention to the menu board, I pretended to ignore his expectant gaze. Instead of reading, I watched him in the corner of my vision.

Edward stared, unchanging expression. Then, he pursed his lips, relaxing them into a devious smile, and walked to Seth at the counter.

"Hi Seth, I'll have the usual, and I also need an earl grey tea with room for milk and one of those short bread cookies. Thanks." He passed his money across the counter before I even had time to react.

Seth looked over at me and winked. "So, two usuals and a cookie? Got it."

Edward handed me the cookie and picked up the cups when they were placed on the counter. I walked silently to the door and huffed out to a table near Jake. I scowled at Edward as he sat down, placing a cup carefully in front of me. Ready to hassle him about ordering for me, paying for me, I looked up and met the most gloriously happy childlike grin. Well shit. I couldn't help my mirroring smile, but I could still tease him a bit.

"How do you know I didn't want coffee?"

"You drink earl grey with milk, _oh crap_, I forgot to get you milk." The flash of disappointment in his shining green eyes was like a tiny little knife to my heart.

"It's okay, Edward. Thank you. How did you know I usually drink tea? I think I ordered a coffee the last time we were here together." My face flushed hot with the admission of my memory. Everything revolving around Edward seemed so surreal, so technicolor to me it was normal to remember every moment, every utterance. I realized a second too late most people wouldn't consider it normal at all.

"You did. You ordered a latte. But usually, you smell like tea," his face heated to match mine.

"I _smell_ like tea?" Oh Jesus I was one cat away from being _that_ woman. That crazy one who smelled like some sort of food product all the time; always the same product.

His face got impossibly redder, brighter, and he smiled one of those apologetic, embarrassed smiles.

"Well, you sort of smell like bergamot, you know, from earl grey tea and citrus and summer . . ." He trailed off, and my jaw fell open. Okay, maybe I wasn't _that_ woman. Did he say I smelled like summer?

He said I smelled like summer.

I beamed at him, thanked him, again, and changed the subject. As adorable as he was when he admitted too much and was wholly uncomfortable, I didn't want him to associate uncomfortable feelings with me.

We talked for a few more minutes until I begrudgingly asked him the time.

Sullenly, I mumbled, "I have to bring Jake back now." I didn't want to stop talking to him; I didn't want to stop being around him. He wasn't running, and I wasn't ready yet.

"Okay, sure." He said; it was neutral, maybe a hint of optimism tinting the edges of his voice. Maybe he'd had enough. Maybe this was bordering on too much, too fast, too soon. That would be okay; I would be okay with that.

We walked at a comfortable pace, Jake, worn out, carrying his fetching stick. We commented lightly on everything around us and really nothing at all, and it was pleasant.

Mike stage winked at me as we walked toward the elevators, and I heard Edward just barely chuckle with his exhalation. Working not to stare too obviously, I marveled at the lightness coming from him. He was never really morose, but he seemed so weighted with his own thoughts all of the time, as if he'd carried an extra fifty pounds around his neck which was now dematerialized. It was delicious and infusing and reinforcing to see.

We stepped into the elevator, and halfway to reaching for the buttons, I turned to ask him for more. Buoyed, bolstered by his lightness, I felt confidence replace some of my trepidation.

"Will you come up with me to bring Jake home?" I could feel my teeth bite into my lip as soon as the words escaped, but I held his eyes with whatever courage I had and whatever I could feign on top of it.

I heard my quick halting breath when the smile contorted his features into the best expression imaginable, and it was embarrassing.

But I didn't care.

And he didn't answer.

"Mm, it's just, I thought, maybe . . . well," _Just say it, Bella_. "I would still like to spend time with you." There. I said it.

"Oh yeah, definitely, um," _Why is he so adorable when he's embarrassed? _"Sorry for not answering you."

"It's okay." I shrugged. Biggest lie I'd ever told because it was so much better than okay. Okay didn't even feel like the correct language, it was so far removed from what I was actually thinking.

With a bubbling little jolt I pushed the button for the eighth floor. Only the eighth floor.

When I opened the door to Jake's home, Edward was kind enough to offer to wait in the hall before I had to ask. I trusted him, but it wasn't my place to invite him into someone else's apartment. Promising speed, I darted into the door before it was fully open at which time Edward requested I slow down, pretty please. He _actually_ said "pretty please," and I actually melted a little bit, at a slower pace.

When I stepped back into the hall, Edward was leaning casually against the wall across from me, and I found myself biting my lip again.

For very different reasons.

"Well, I still have some tea so technically we are still on a . . . date, right?" I started the sentence without thinking about the ending. I hadn't meant to call it a date, at least not to him. Not that it wasn't a date, but I didn't know if it was either.

"Right." He nodded and smiled. That smile. "So, why don't you come finish your tea in my apartment?"

I turned, walking back toward the elevator, and looked over my shoulder to make sure he followed. He did. Pausing at the steel doors of the lift for a fraction of a second, I diverted to the stairwell door and pushed it open.

"Thank you," he whispered, and I peeked back at him, grinning.

We sat on his couch and talked casually, asking simple questions and relaxing into the cushions. He belonged here, in this space, his space. Though the furnishings were subtle, I began to see him in everything he'd chosen. The overall minimal quality the space suggested mimicked the simplicity of his quiet demeanor, but it wasn't true. It wasn't wrong; it was a lie of omission. A fleeting glance didn't reveal the small explosions of color (his eyes simmering over a teasing smile), the elegant lighting (his innate physical grace, permeating out through his skin), the small, wild, handmade eclectic pieces (the depth and insanity of his mind all at once). A fleeting look, a tongue dipped hesitantly in to taste, did not reveal Edward; discovering him was slow and deliberate and thought provoking and so fulfilling.

And finally, the one thing in the room which was completely Edward, told his stories, washed the walls with his heart. The piano.

I found myself staring at the piano as he spoke to me. I heard his voice as if it were the strike of hammers on strings, flowing out of the dark shadow created by the lid. That was what he was. Beauty, often confusing and complicated, sometimes melancholy and wistful and infused with pain from darkness, but beauty still.

"Will you play something for me, please, Edward?" I blurted into an open space, lucky for it; the words were coming, interruption or no.

For the first time today, a flash of the ever-present self-doubt completely clouded his face, and I wished I could take it back, suck the words back down into my diaphragm and will them out of existence. But then his features started to soften, in millimeters, starting at his hairline. Lastly, his jaw unclenched, and he didn't smile, but he didn't frown anymore.

Standing, he moved around the couch. Lightly resting his hands on the shiny black instrument, he lowered himself deliberately to the bench. I stayed on the couch because I didn't want to make him more uncomfortable, and he started mumbling to himself in a steady stream, a hum teasing my ears. He unzipped his sweater, and I was sure he unzipped his chest along with it, ready to open it, pour himself out.

He quieted and tilted his head to rest gingerly on the piano as his fingers began to play. Immediately, I recognize the music, this music, my music, and I'm sure a soft whimper huffed out of my lungs, exaggerating the clench of muscles under my ribs. A violent shiver ran through my whole body, dissolving into waves of energetic heat. The longer I sat so still, so far from him, the more the music vibrated into me. After only a few moments, the hum was so violent, I jerked to my feet abruptly. The shift helped me calm my shaking, and I walked slowly, carefully, to the bench.

I lowered myself apprehensively to perch on the very edge of his bench, and his eyes shifted towards me, lingering for only seconds. I barely sat on the smooth seat, but I was afraid to push myself too far into his space. It didn't matter. The music was still vibrating into me, but now it passed through, no longer reverberating around, rattling my teeth. This way I felt like a part of a closed electrical circuit; instead of flowing into me and leaving me humming, hot with no discharge, no grounding, the sound could move through me into a larger circle. At first, I thought the energy, the sound, was traveling from the piano, through me and into Edward, but the more I felt it, it was him. It was always him, flowing into me and magnifying into something poignant and soft and lovely and hard and playful. Something which was me but so much more. It was us.

He played, and I watched him. Just yesterday, he'd promised he would try. I hadn't expected this. I thought about our conversations today, how he made so much effort without being false. It wasn't perfect, littered with childlike awkwardness and fidgeting silences. It was real, so it _was_ perfect. The electric quality of the music resonating under my skin left no more room for fear. He left no more room; he, with his unzipped chest.

And I wasn't worried anymore. About what would happen if . . . about what people would think, about timing or rules or touches.

The heat in my limbs took on a very different quality and pulsed inward to my chest. I slid closer to him, resting my hand on his thigh. my fingers gripped the fabric, squeezing gently to emphasize the music flowing into me, away from me. The touch helped me dispel the fullness in my chest, only to replace it warmer, richer; I wanted more. I pivoted my body on the bench, straddling it to face Edward as he continued to play parts of the music I'd never heard before; I was sure of it. I replaced a hand on his leg and rested the other lightly against his back, feeling him move, muscles shift, with his creation.

He played the last chords of the song, the ending I'd never heard, and it was perfect. Straining, hopeful, tense yet comfortable, a mass of contradictions and resolution.

His fingers danced over the keys, cycling back to the beginning, as he began to play the same piece again. Already, I could hear more in it. More need, more curiosity, more light, more passion. More. My hand slid lightly across denim, inscribing invisible circles in wide arcs, pressing into dense muscle. My fingers etched a path up to press my palm against his groin. He gasped quietly as my hand massaged into the hardening bulge under heavy fabric. I fingered the buttons beginning at his waist teasingly before popping the first one open. As I moved to pry at the second button, without stopping the flight of his fingers across the keys, Edward turned his face to meet mine, eyes blazing and dark, tongue chased by teeth on his lower lip.

"Bella . . ." His eyes rolled back, lids sliding closed languidly as my hand increased the pressure. "I'm trying, so hard. I can't . . . . It's too much, like this; I can't just, just be your friend when you're . . . . You should stop," he stuttered out around deep breaths and perfect notes.

I leaned closer as he moved to face forward again. Sliding ever closer, pressing my breasts against his arm, I tilted up to bring my lips to hover over his ear.

"Shhh, Edward," I breathed, warm air sending a shiver down his spine, a pulsing under my hand. "I want this. I want you. _However_ you want to give yourself to me, I want you." My teeth found soft flesh, nipping at his earlobe, eliciting a delicious groan. "Keep playing." A whispered command, lips brushing skin.

He did. His fingers tickled across keys as mine, first freed, then tickled across his length. I felt the pulse of his heartbeat in the hand against his back, thrumming a rhythm to match the notes swirling out of his instrument. He was thick and hard and warm and soft in my palm, and the whoosh of blood rushing in my ears added another layer to his melody.

I caressed; he sighed.

I stroked; he hummed.

I gripped; he groaned.

I pumped; he growled.

I watched his fingers fly, driven by touch and memory. His eyes squinted hard on his face, twisted with immaculate tension. Without thinking, I tipped my head under his arm, dragged my tongue across curiously soft, swollen flesh.

He gasped; he missed a note. Shifting subtly, he leaned back. He was giving me more room. Lips brushing his head, I smiled.

And my tongue was against his skin: licking, swirling, tracing. And the music was in my chest: swelling, unfolding, revealing. And my mouth was around his cock: sucking, tasting, praying. And he breathed and skipped a note. And I moaned and sped my pace.

And he tensed.

And I squeezed.

And more notes missed.

And a twitch.

And a rasp.

"Bell-ahh . . ."

And suddenly the only sound was the symphony of a fist against keys, his lungs, my mouth, a desperate gasp, a purr of anticipation, and it was a transcendent harmony.

A throb.

A hand in my hair.

"Bella?!" A warning.

And the chorus of his climax. Erection pulsing with release, spasming and hot. Grunts echoing in ears, aching and full. Hand fisting in hair, clenching and desperate.

I released him gently from my lips, dragging wet tongue across flesh again, as he shivered and tugged lightly at my hair. I shifted up to him in small increments, my eyes the last to meet their mark. Suddenly, I was nervous in a slightly pleasant, abashed way, so when I returned his fervent gaze it was with a blush and a smile I could feel but not hide. His look was hungry and searing and dismantled me where I sat, peeling away the layers, all of them, until all that was left of me were pulsing heart and throbbing sex, both thrumming under the intensity of Edward.

Roughly, needily, he shifted to wrap his fingers fiercely around my waist, pulling me off the bench to stand between his legs. He gripped my face, enveloping me in a devouring kiss. Lips crashing against mine, sandalwood and mint invading my senses, tongue tasting me and him mixed with me and my vibrating hum. His mouth aggressively kissed a wet trail along my jaw to my ear, licking, nipping, whispering into my skin, into my ear. Nimble fingers explored desperately under my tank top, burning trails and fingerprints into my ribs, over my stomach, under my bra.

Enveloped in his hands, his kiss, I struggled desperately to calm the racing course of my veins, the stuttering pants of my fluttering diaphragm. I was walking a fine line between wanton desperation and embarrassing hyperventilation, and when Edward shifted away from me to tear my shirt over my head, groping at the clasp of my bra, I used the space to slow and measure my breathing. The dizzying haze of sparks, flint striking steel, making me lightheaded, dissipated. It diffused down into my body to relocate in my gut, my abdomen; a deep, heavy burning ember which heated want and need and lust into my viscera, between my legs.

Lips found mine with light kisses, no less intense, and Edward's rasping voice skittered across my mouth.

"Bella . . . you taste so good." He tasted me again. "Like summer . . ." taste, "And citrus . . ." again, "And tea." He smirked impishly, and I pulled away to quirk an eyebrow, twist a smirk.

"Is that so? Tea, you say?"

"Mhmmm . . ." kiss, "And . . ." taste, "And I want . . ." he paused hesitantly. "I want . . ." more kissing, and I vibrated like a tuning fork as he rubbed up over my naked breasts, teasing my nipples.

"Edward?" I breathed against his cheek as his tongue sought my jaw. He grumbled, rough and feral, in response. "What do you _want_?"

"I want to _taste_ you," He growled against my ear, his hands flying to the button of my jeans, tearing at the fabric. I yanked my remaining clothes down my legs, feet struggling to step out of the bunched material.

The bench scraped loudly against the floor as Edward stood, pushing it back with his legs. In the same fluid motion, he grabbed my hips, resting me on his piano. A discordant lusty sound rang out to accompany the bite of cold keys into my soft flesh. He stepped into me and kissed my body into an arc over his instrument, leaning over me with just enough weight to limit my lungs, press against my nipples. I groaned at the slight burning protest in my muscles as he released me to drag his nose and mouth down my neck, my chest. Settling on his knees, he moved in trails over my belly, across my hips, drawing the paths with his fingers, lips, eyelashes, tongue, marking points with his teeth, lightly, playfully.

His palms wrapped around my inner thighs, sliding up, fingers caressing the bend where legs met hips. My breath, my heart were too loud in my throat, eclipsed only by the throb and heat between my legs. His head dipped down, nose grazed thigh, hands tightened grip.

I sighed, and graceful fingers brushed along my soft, swollen skin.

I gulped in a noisy breath, and felt tentative lips kiss me. A hesitant tongue swept out and pushed gently between my flesh, vibrating with a guttural groan.

I shivered; Edward pushed carefully against my legs, brought my feet to his shoulders.

This time, with no hesitance, his tongue slid along my entrance and up to my clit, lapping and pressure and flicking and heat.

I moaned, wove my fingers into his hair, dug my toes into soft cotton, listening to the music I couldn't forget, as it swelled in my mind with his touch. I heard the notes fall from his lips, humming against me, and they were in the stiffening of my muscles, the burning in my belly, the swelling in my chest.

Fingers teased traces along my thighs, up my stomach, kneading my breast.

Tongue lapping, lips sucking; heated exhalations cooling my burning skin.

"Ahhh . . . Edward, please." I wasn't sure what I was asking. For release, for his touch, for his mouth, for him not to stop, for him, for more. More and more and always more.

His body replied with a deep groan, fingers moving to touch slick wet while others pinched and squeezed a rosy pucker. He stroked my lips, mouth still working against me, and the burning heat surged in a halting pulse from my abdomen out, suffusing.

"Oh God, please." It was a whisper, a whimper, a plea.

Moving slowly, his fingertips barely pushed into me only to withdraw too quickly. I knew my sounds told him what I wanted, needed, and with a bit of roughness, his fingers, he was inside me.

"Oh!" A gust of breath.

Pumping, swirling.

"Uhhhng . . ."

Lapping, nipping.

"Yes . . . Edwaaaaard."

Thrusting, flicking, pinching, sucking.

Fingers.

"Oh . . . my . . . Ehhh . . ."

Vibrating growl against me . . .

And so much heat, and . . .

"Ahhhh, Edwaaaaaard!" Heat pulsated through my body, muscles clenched and locked, fingers gripped hair violently.

I came with such force, somehow, I coaxed more sound from the long silent keys on which I was seated. My body was at the center of a sensory explosion, yet numb at the same time. A million lights popped in front of my eyes, yet I saw nothing. A symphony played inside my ears, yet I was deaf. Odes told stories in vowel sounds from my lungs, yet I was mute.

Realizing first, I was tearing at Edward's hair, I sheepishly extracted my fingers, carefully fluffing and arranging the soft, thrashing tufts. Edward placed light kisses on my skin, withdrawing further each time, until he had shifted away from me. My eyes still closed tightly, I let my legs drop from his shoulders to dangle, and he leaned forward to scatter kisses on my knees, his hands rubbing gently up and down the outsides of my calves.

"Bella?" I opened my eyes to the most glorious face I'd ever seen. Not just because he was so indescribably beautiful, but the expression, the open glow made it feel like a religious experience.

I smiled timidly at him, feeling a flush across my skin, a remainder of the surging heat.

"Are you alright?" His question was not facetious, and his face was colored with worry and embarrassment and uncertainty.

I nodded slowly, widening my smile.

"Oh, okay, good. I just wasn't sure if, well," he paused here and bit his lip. _He_ bit _his_ lip.

"Edward, had you ever done that before?" After what he did, we did in the elevator, I assumed he had plenty of experience. I assumed it would extend to every aspect of intimacy. I didn't care either way; I never gave it a second thought, except when I imagined him doing those things to me.

The bloom of pink across his face and shifted eyes were answer enough, but with admirable confidence, his eyes came back to mine.

"Um, no. I never had the . . ." he fidgeted. "I never had someone . . ."

"You really don't have to explain. We are who we are."

There was that brilliant smile again.

Gingerly. I put my weight on my feet, hoping my legs had recovered enough not to embarrass me, and Edward adopted the sheepish expression I'm sure I was wearing when it dawned on me I was trying to bald him one handful at a time.

"What?" I asked with a curious smirk lifting my cheeks.

"Sorry, I just realized you're completely naked, and I'm pretty much fully clothed," he was adorable, and in true form, he was worrying already.

"Well, we can resolve this injustice with one of two solutions. Either I put on clothes, or you take off clothes. I know my vote," I teased and laughed when his mouth dropped into a shocked little circle, eyes wide and fluttering. After a still moment, he reached for his shirt and yanked it over his head.

It was my turn to be surprised. He snickered devilishly, and my body hummed with happiness, his joy so infusing. While I was marveling at how much he had relaxed into me, this, us, his hands fell casually to his open jeans, thumbs hooking into underwear. He wasn't bluffing. He was going for the big reveal all in one pass. No stalling.

I was tempted to let him drop his pants for my own selfishly delightful benefit, but it felt sort of demanding even though I had only been teasing. I moved a hand out to stop his, telling him I would put some clothes back on so he didn't have to sit around or see me to the door naked. His face fell at the mention of me leaving, and I pushed my fingers into his cheeks, the corners of his mouth, to provoke a smile.

"What do you have to do today?" He asked quietly, eyes downcast.

"Nothing else, Edward."

Sparkling green.

"Would you like to stay for a while? Maybe we could watch a movie or something . . ."

"I'd love to," I said pulling on my jeans, re-clasping my bra, tugging the tank top back over my head. Jesus, that grin could cause traffic accidents.

I was more than excited to see Edward button his pants but make no move to replace his shirt, instead walking to the couch and plopping down casually. He patted the cushion beside him in a silent invitation, and I may have skipped slightly in my rush to comply. I'm pretty sure I did, because Edward chuckled lightly under his breath. I sat, and he grabbed the remote. Simultaneously he turned the TV on and reached out for my hand.

"So that piece you played for me, the one I always hear you working on lately," _cue crimson flush_. "It's done now, right?"

"Yeah, do you like it? I finished it two days ago," he mumbled the last part as if he were embarrassed to say it, but I had no idea why.

"I do like it. A lot. It reminds me of a poem I really like." He nodded. "What's it for? I mean do you compose on commissioned requests or just sell them when you're done? I don't really know how it works."

"Well, I do both. Sometimes I get a request for a particular piece to fit a scene in a movie or whatever; sometimes I write compositions, and then they are purchased for the same sort of thing after the fact, and some of them are for more artistic purposes. For orchestras to play." I nodded at him in response after he stopped talking, and I couldn't help wondering why he hadn't answered my whole question. Maybe he'd just forgotten the first part.

"So which is this one? Pre-sold, to be purchased or artistic?" I smiled at him.

"None of those."

"What's it for then?" I looked at him with confusion. If it wasn't going to earn him money or be played, why write it?

"It's for _you_, Bella," he whispered, so full of vulnerability and nerves, and oh my God, I thought for sure my chest would explode with the swelling.

I stared, and his eyes darted. To me and away. And just as he started to look like a caged animal, I unfroze myself. I didn't know what to say, so I just attacked his mouth with mine, attempting to fill his chest full of the warm fuzzy, loved feeling I had. We kissed languidly, after my initial pounce, for a few minutes, and when we separated, he was bright and shiny and light.

We spent the rest of the afternoon watching movies and chatting idly; it was perfection. He made me a late lunch, and it was the most orgasmic sandwich I'd ever had, though it clearly bothered him when I moved the tomato and arugula around. He made me try his favorite beer, though he said he rarely drank, and spluttered awkwardly until I allowed him to pour it into a glass. I discovered he had quite ticklish feet, and he hummed almost imperceptibly when I ran my fingers through his hair, scratching his scalp. I giggled a lot throughout the afternoon. I also kissed him often, and couldn't stop imagining him naked in the shower while I washed his hair. I imagined him naked in every possible scenario my mind could concoct actually.

When the sun was clearly setting and we'd finished our second movie, I turned to him wistfully.

"I'm on foot, so I should probably head out before it gets too dark." I frowned, reaching over to squeeze his fingers. He looked miserable and conflicted, and he merely nodded his head.

I stood as his hand held mine and started to walk away from the couch only to be tugged back sharply. I landed on the plush cushion with an ungraceful flop, and before I could turn to face him, Edward's mouth was hovering next to my ear.

"Stay." He breathed, infused with need and heat.

"Okay." Without thinking it fell from my lips; I generally didn't over-think decisions as a rule, but this one was so right before it was even a hint in my consciousness, I felt as if the question had already been answered.

We spent the rest of the evening as we did the afternoon, talking, laughing, kissing. Even though we were kissing regularly and often, Edward still kept a physical space for himself, whether from desire or neuroses, I didn't know. He didn't pull me back to snuggle into his chest or fold me up in his arms. He embraced me when he kissed me and then returned me to my space. Our legs were touching where we sat, and occasionally we held hands; he didn't seem adverse to touch, just not sure of himself.

Bedtime with Edward was exhilarating in it's newness, nerve wracking in it's unfamiliarity and hilarious. Mostly, hilarious. Watching him curiously, I got to witness his nightly routines. First the lights and the locks and the doors, then the hygiene (for which I was quite grateful - he actually brushed for two minutes, flossed and rinsed with the mouthwash which removes the top layer of skin from your mouth), then he arranged his bed. To begin with, the bed was very neatly made, sheets tucked in, pillows arranged. He started by untucking the sheet from the bottom , and then he rearranged his pillows, placing some under the covers in various locations, moving others to what I assumed would be my side. It appeared he identified the pillows specifically with a rank of desirability or importance. I worked so hard not to laugh. It would have been good-natured, but I knew without being told this was huge for him. I wondered if any woman had ever been privy to so much of Edward. I didn't think so. Lastly, he walked to his closet, removed his pants and folded them before placing them inside the hamper. So curious. He looked confused though when his fingers hooked into the waist of his boxer briefs, and his face peeked out to me, sitting on the bed still fully clothed.

"Sorry, I didn't think about what you would sleep in or what you would be okay with me sleeping in," his shoulders shrugged innocently, and I smiled warmly back.

"You can sleep in whatever you like, and as for me, I usually sleep in . . . nothing, but I'll wear my tank top or a t-shirt of yours if you'd rather." It was my turn to shrug.

"I usually sleep naked too." His eyebrow quirked suggestively, and a trilling giggle bubbled out of my throat.

"It's nothing we haven't seen."

I pulled off my clothes, dropping them into a crumpled pile on the floor, and climbed back onto the bed and under the covers. Edward stared at the clothes on the floor, lips pursed in indecision, and I stifled another giggle. After another moment of thought, he picked them up, folded them and placed them on the chair in the corner, smiling apologetically at me the whole time. He walked back to the closet, and slipped out of his underwear.

I tried not to gape, but this was the first time I'd ever seen Edward completely naked. I'd seen his parts and pieces in sections, but that was like looking at one tenth of a Lichtenstein and pretending to know what the dots would become or listening to one tenth of a song and trying to sing all the lyrics. The art, the beauty, wasn't the same chopped up into little pieces and neither was Edward. His parts flowed so beautifully together, shifted so gracefully in tandem, it seemed wrong to even think of him as a mass of anatomical pieces.

He climbed under the covers opposite me. With a green glance followed by a shy smile, he reached out to turn off the lamp on his side table, and whispered goodnight to me. Somehow I knew, when he asked me to stay, he wanted to actually sleep with me, so I wasn't expecting any advances or overtures. Edward's bubble of space was radiating out in waves of nerves and anxiety, and I knew he wanted contact but wasn't comfortable pushing. His overwhelming desire to touch, be touched, was magnetic in its need, and resisting it made me feel hollow and needy in return.

I decided Edward had done enough for one day, for a lifetime, outside of his comfort zone, and I would do this for him. I turned to face him and wrapped myself around him. Hooking my leg over his, I pressed myself flush against his side, draped my arm over his chest, rested my head on his shoulder. I tilted my head to kiss his side, and though he was rigidly stiff at first, he relaxed into my body. We fell asleep quickly, me wrapped around him like a climbing vine.

When I awoke the next morning, I was slightly disoriented until I remembered falling asleep pressed warm against Edward's body, and a shiver bolted up my back. I realized quickly I couldn't move and Edward was folded tightly around me. Sometime in the night I must have rolled over to sleep on my other side, and he followed. His leg was pushed between mine, resting heavily on the one underneath it. His arm was under my head, acting as a pillow, and the other curled over me, hand pressed warm and flat against my stomach. His nose was nuzzled into my neck, my hair, breathing sweet heat into my skin. I'd never been so wrapped up in someone without a desire to move or squirm or break free.

Edward's sleeping body was able to act in ways his wakened mind confused.

I was light and air and summer.

* * *

**a/n: Here's where I pander a bit. I won't be mad atcha for not reviewing (I deserve it for making you wait so long), but I would really love to hear what you think, especially after so long.**

***kiss, kiss*  
**


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